


Hold My Hand, Trace My Lifeline

by 5leafclover



Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rare Pairings, Sexual Assault, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 24,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21966637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5leafclover/pseuds/5leafclover
Summary: Every time Finral closed his eyes, he saw that dirty bathroom wall, remembered groping hands and paralyzing pain and the sick, wet stench… He hasn’t been able to use magic since then.  Mana had abandoned him, left him with nothing, no sense of self to hold onto.He was broken beyond repair.But then there was Asta, there was always Asta, a blinding glow of brilliant light that could almost rekindle the last shred of hope in Finral’s shattered heart...
Relationships: Asta/Finral Roulacase
Comments: 44
Kudos: 144





	1. Stuck

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever work; it is intended to be a personal exploration in processing and healing from intense trauma. I identify with Finral a lot, and admire his transformative journey brought forth by Asta in canon. 
> 
> Asta/Finral is my beautiful rarepair that I would defend with all my life. 
> 
> I will put trigger warnings in the notes of each chapter. I strongly suggest skipping any chapter labeled NSFW if graphic descriptions of sexual assault cause you great emotional stress.
> 
> Please leave comments and critiques/suggestions (especially on logistics, as that is what I struggle most with).
> 
> PLEASE do not read if you are under 18.

Typically, Yami could expect Finral to be lounging somewhere in the living room of the headquarters with the rest of the idiots, so the leader didn’t even bother looking around when he entered with a yawn and shouted, “Finral, I’m going out, open a portal for me.” 

Yami clicked his tongue when he opened his eyes and wasn’t already downtown, and scanned the room for his ride. 

He should have known something was off by the silence in the room. He saw all of the squad members huddled around the far wall, and only a few turned to look at their captain when he entered. Yami approached the group to see what they were all looking at.

Jutting out of the wall were two hands, caught at the wrist by two small, feeble-looking portals. The hands were undoubtedly Finral’s, but were drained of all color to the point of being the shade of Noelle’s hair. 

Yami burst into his hearty laughter. “What, did Finral get stuck in the wall? That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen all day!” 

The room stayed silent. Everyone tensed as the right hand weakly clawed at the air, only to fall limp again. Yami furrowed his eyebrows and broke through the center of the group, lighting a cigarette as he approached the wall. He picked up the right hand and looked at the cuticles. They still had color under them, but just barely. All right, at least the boy was still alive. Yami gently squeezed the palm of the hand, which flinched away and then went slack again. It was ice cold. The captain tugged on the wrist, but it did not budge. 

“Where did Finral say he was going today?” Yami asked. 

Vanessa was the first to shake herself out of the serious daze the entire group was in. “He mentioned going to the bar to pick up girls.”

“Do we know which bar?”

“Somewhere out in Kiten, I think.”

“How long has he been like this?”

Gordon muttered under his breath, “He’s been in the wall like this for at least two hours... I tried to tell you all but nobody listened…”

Noelle shook her head. “We have no idea.”

“I noticed first,” Luck spoke up. “About an hour ago. I thought it was pretty funny, so I went to ask Magna if he had a marker I could draw on his hands with, but then…”

Everyone’s eyes fell back to the hands, which were now squeezed into fists, knuckles completely white. Vanessa and Gordon each put a hand over one of Finral’s and rubbed light circles over them with their thumbs. 

Yami combed a hand through his unruly black hair and huffed, trying to think of the best solution to whatever was happening. 

At that moment, the front door burst open, spilling light into the living room. Asta’s sweaty form took deep breaths from under the door frame, smiling big and waving around his largest sword in his hand. 

“WAHOO!” he shouted, “I’m feeling fired up! Luck, do you want to have a practice fi-” 

All eyes were now on Asta, and the boy froze, feeling like he might die just from Yami’s intense glare alone. “What’s going on?”

As the group caught Asta up on what was happening, Noelle’s face lit up with a thought. 

“Asta, what if you try poking at the portals his hands are stuck in with your sword? Do you think then his hands would return to the side his body’s on?”

“Ooh, good idea, Noelle!” Asta replied, and the girl blushed as he beamed at her and began walking closer to the wall. 

With the hilt of his sword, Asta tapped the faint glow encircling each of Finral’s wrists. The magic was erased, but the hands were still there, seeming to struggle with panic at the loss of their only potential escape. Asta cursed and took both hands, holding them until they were still again. 

Yami sighed. “Alright, I’m going to send out a search party to find Finral and get him unstuck. Asta,” the captain selected, seeing the frustration and desire to help glimmering in the boy’s determined eyes. 

Yami’s sight then fell on Gauche, who was in a different corner of the room, looking at pictures of Marie and paying no heed to the current situation. “...And Gauche. You two head to Kiten and figure out what’s wrong with Finral.”

“Why do I have to go?” a nosebleeding face turned to the direction of the group.

“Because you should show some more concern for the other members of your team,” Yami replied. “Also, you can contact us with your mirrors if you need any backup.” With that, the captain turned away from the wall and closed his eyes. “Try to find him by sundown. I still have to get him to portal me somewhere, and I don’t like when my ride isn’t around when I need it.” 

“Plus,” Yami spoke quieter, lighting another cigarette, “I don’t have a very good feeling about any of this.”


	2. Trapped (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings:  
> rape, verbal degradation/humiliation, being restrained, blood/knives
> 
> Please let me know if you would like to see other warnings added.

“No… please…” Finral’s cracked voice whimpered as the portals disappeared and the last of his magic gave up on him, his wrists now pinched in place by the hard edges of the filthy tile wall. 

A sweaty weight hunched over the tawny-haired boy’s slender frame, and a sickening voice laughed and whispered in his ear, “You can’t even summon enough magic to save yourself, you pathetic slut. It looks like even mana has decided you’re not worth anything except for being stuffed with cock.”

Finral closed his eyes and desperately tried to call forth something, any small particle of magical energy that could free him from this hell, but his mind was swimming and his mana leaked out, escaped through his tears and spit and blood…

On his palms, he could feel the warmth of the headquarters’s fire, could feel the pressure of other hands carefully taking his own. He knew these calloused hands were Asta’s when the boy on the other side of reality tapped a gentle rhythm on Finral’s knuckles. It was the same one Asta drummed on the table whenever he was told to sit still. Finral had never noticed himself putting the beat to music, and so was surprised, and almost comforted when a melody like sunlight played in the back of his mind. If he could just slip into unconsciousness, thinking of music and friends and Asta’s bright smile...

Finral’s eyes snapped back open to his horrific reality as he felt the cool edge of a knife against his back. A smirking mouth bit his ear hard, and the weight behind him thrust forward.


	3. Search

Gauche shook Asta, who was hanging by his arms, off his broom while they were still fifteen feet above Kiten, sending the younger boy crashing and rolling into dirt. The purple-haired magic user landed gently next to his teammate, who coughed and rubbed his side, still sprawled on the ground. 

“That was way too early, Gauche!” Asta complained, standing up and patting dust off his cloak. 

“Sorry,” Gauche replied, hardly looking sorry at all.

The two made a plan to split up and look for clues regarding Finral’s whereabouts. Kiten wasn’t the largest city, but it was still big enough to make tracking down a single person a difficult task. Gauche headed to the left, his indifferent disposition startling passers-by as he asked if they had seen a scrawny looking guy in brown tights with a Black Bulls cloak on. 

Asta made his way in the opposite direction, wandering down a busy main street bursting with the color of fresh market food stands. He called out Finral’s name over the loud chatter of shoppers, and stopped any young women to ask if they had seen him, knowing that they would likely be the first people Finral would have made contact with in the town.

An hour had passed without luck, before a young girl, no older than Asta himself, approached the boy with her group of friends. “Excuse me! Your cloak means you’re a Magic Knight, right? From the Black Bulls?”

Asta couldn’t help but notice the dark purple bruises around her wrists before she tugged her sleeves down further to cover them. Despite her injuries and the wary looks that her friends were giving him, the girl looked elated to see Asta.

“Can you tell your teammate I said thank you for saving me?” she asked. “He transported me away so fast that I never had the chance to say it. You Magic Knights are really incredible. Tell your friend that Layla says he’s her hero!”

Hope rekindled in Asta’s eyes at this news. “That must have been Finral! Do you know where he went?”

The girl suddenly shrunk in on herself and shivered. One of her friends put a soothing arm around her shoulders. The friend spoke for her: “He was hitting on Layla out by the Iron Eagle tavern earlier today, but someone came out of nowhere and grabbed her as she was walking away from him...”

“We saw the attacker go down a side street,” another friend spoke up, “and we were about to go call for help, when we were like, ‘Oh wait, that guy with the bad pickup lines is a Magic Knight.’ So then we turned to where he was, but he was already running after the scary guy who took Layla.”

“And before I knew it, I saw a portal open in front of me, and was back near all of my friends,” said Layla. 

After double-checking that Layla and the other girls were all ok and safe, Asta asked for directions to the Iron Eagle, and then raced down the roads toward the tavern. On his way, he crashed right into Gauche’s back, who was hovering over a street peddler set up on a blanket by the road. 

“What do you mean, you can’t tell me where you got those from? Answer me or I’ll kill you, old man!” Gauche was shouting with a passion that was usually reserved for protecting his sister, and the peddler grovelled on the ground, grimy arms in front of him as he pleaded for mercy. 

Asta looked around Gauche’s arm and saw the contents spread out on the blanket for sale by the gold-toothed man Gauche was threatening. Several shabby looking wallets. Knock-off love potions. One broom covered in scorch marks. A few secondhand articles of clothes--

Asta blanched. On the top of the heap of clothes being sold was a familiar green tunic and matching boots. Asta moved toward the pile and dug underneath the top layer. He found a Black Bulls cloak, being sold for an incredibly high price. Asta’s eyes fixed on the peddler, and saw two emerald hoop earrings dangling from the loose skin of his ears. 

The man looked up and locked panicked eyes with Asta while pawing for Asta’s hands, desperately seeking some form of protection from the other Magic Knight. “Please,” he rasped, “I am just an honest salesman. Don’t let him hurt me! I didn’t take anything from anyone!”

Asta yanked his hands away and reached for his grimoire. He was too shocked to even shout. His voice came out in an unfamiliar low growl. “What have you done to my friend?”


	4. Monster (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings:  
> rape, body fluid, blood, vomit, knives, scars, verbal degradation/humiliation, suicidal ideation, gagging

This man wouldn’t go away. 

Finral had stopped fighting long ago, ever since his portals disappeared and the body behind him began ramming into him with a pace that made the young man see red from the searing pain. Going limp made it hurt at least a little less as he waited for the man to finish and finally leave.

That was an hour ago.

While the men who used him before all made him think he was in hell, the monster caging in Finral now had an obscene level of stamina. Finral released a wracked sigh as the man finally pulled out and coated his back in ropes of hot cum. But then the boy yelped, feeling the still-hard dick re-enter his abused hole. 

The man came once more, this time inside him, and still he didn’t stop thrusting. Finral thought he couldn’t cry any more, but now he felt fresh tears roll from his eyes as he began to believe that this assault would never end. 

The man came again. And again. He must have had some kind of enhancement magic letting him do this, Finral thought. He could feel the squelching combination of blood and seed being churned by the dick inside of him. When he looked down, he could see that the sheer volume of body fluid inside him was distending his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to throw up. 

Finral didn’t recognize his own voice. “P-please...” He didn’t have enough power to say any more.

The man guffawed. “Oh, you’re begging for it now? You really are a cock whore!” He pulled out and slapped his member against Finral’s back. He spread his cum all over the smaller body in front of him, slathering thick globs onto the back of his neck. 

Finral opened his mouth in a silent scream at the sharp sting behind his head. He hadn’t forgotten the knife, which carved deep, precise marks into the soft skin of his neck, and he futilely struggled against his self-made bonds to wipe off the slime and blood that made his head feel like it was being lit on fire. 

He wished that the knife had just slit his throat.

A scabby hand grabbed Finral by the jaw and pulled his face to the right. For the first time Finral saw his abuser, but through the cloudiness of his mind he could only draw up a comparison of the monster as a shark. The face in front of his mocked a pout, and the other hand wiped tears away from Finral’s eyes. 

“You’ve been such a good slut so far that I think I’m growing attached to you,” the shark man said. “I think you deserve a nice little gift.”

New fear sparkled in Finral’s eyes as the man began to flip through his grimoire. Suddenly, they glazed over again as a hand left his face and reached down to his crotch. The man cast a spell, and Finral’s ideas of the type of magic he used proved true. Finral couldn’t contain a breathy moan as a string of vibrating mana wrapped around his cock, and he couldn’t fight as it began to stiffen, his member reluctantly growing hard.

The man took the opportunity to slide his own dick into Finral’s mouth. The smaller man’s jaw was slack, and precum mixed with the drool pooling out of his mouth. Finral gagged, but he didn’t resist as the cock began to facefuck him. 

“What a good boy you are. You know, for a cum dump, you look rather stunning with your pretty pink lips wrapped around my cock. Should I buy you and keep you all to myself?”


	5. The Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> violence, verbal degradation/humiliation, knives, referenced drug use, implied pedophilia

Asta and Gauche removed and hid their cloaks, deciding that it was best to keep undercover as they walked towards the bar whose name they got from the cowardly peddler. They rushed down the seedy side street that Layla and her friends had mentioned, trying to ignore the rats and trash and lewd graffiti on the alley’s walls. At the end of the dark path was a single flickering light, casting a sickly green haze over a faded sign above a doorway reading: The Void. Poker~Pool~Booze. 

Taking a deep breath, Asta pushed the door open. His next breath was less comfortable as he coughed on thick streams of cigar smoke mixed with some other unidentifiable, rancid smell. The place was packed with grizzly looking men. Many wore dark hoods that cast deep shadows over their faces. Others were covered with scars and grime. 

He and Gauche moved further into the room. Asta jumped at the sound of a glass smashing to the floor, followed by a long chain of curse words and a crowd forming around what seemed to be a serious brawl. He looked to the far side of the room and saw the barkeeper, whose sunken eyes focused only on the counter he wiped down with a dirty rag. 

Behind the bar, a door opened and clicked shut again, wafting a heavy puff of the awful smell that made Asta and Gauche cover their noses. Out from the door appeared a bulking man who stumbled over to the barkeeper, zipping up his fly and licking his lips. He slapped a hand to the barkeeper’s shoulder and grinned broadly, revealing two rows of razor-sharp teeth. 

“You got a good one in there today, Reggie,” he spoke. “Nasty little bitch did so good, I even decided to give him a little gift.” The man wiped his hands on his shirt and reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out a knife, the red-stained blade glinting in the harsh neon lights above the bar counter. 

“Come back any time, Al. By the looks of it, that toy won’t be going anywhere soon,” the barkeeper replied, and the man named Al let out a grating laugh as he slammed a sack of gold onto the counter and went to join the crowd around the fight. 

Asta’s stomach turned. He couldn’t quite understand what was going on in this horrible place, but he had a strong notion that Finral was behind that closed door. Asta thought of his delicate friend, of Finral’s graceful movements when he cast a spell, of how soft and sensitive his senpai could be, slow to violence and quick to compassionate tears… 

He thought of how cold his hands were when he held them through the wall. Asta clenched his own into white-knuckled fists and gritted his teeth, and began marching over to the other side of the room.

Gauche’s hand caught the younger boy by the shoulder. Asta blinked up at him, and Gauche spoke low, “Be careful, Asta. We need a plan to find out if Finral is… back there. If we rush into things, we might all face trouble. And that would devastate Marie.”

Asta agreed, and the two planned an attempt to act as natural as possible and see if they could simply bribe their way into the back room. 

The two Magic Knights sat down at the counter, sandwiched between a hooded figure snoring into the empty mug in front of him and a man who was definitely on drugs, his eyes flickering towards Gauche, looking him up and down.

“Hey, barkeep,” Gauche began, “How can me and my friend get into that back room there?”

Reggie looked over at the two of them. “Haven’t seen you lot ‘round here before,” he said. “Your friend looks too young to even be here. I would get lost, before anything happens to you-”

“I have cash, if that’s what you want,” Gauche cut him off. He reached for his back pocket, only to find it was empty.

“Boy, does he!” The man next to Gauche spoke up, holding the purple-haired wizard’s wallet. “He must be some kind of noble with this kind of money. That, or he’s into some real nasty business on the black market. Oh, and take a look at this beauty!” The man let out a low whistle and pulled out the picture of Marie, leaving grease marks where his fingers touched the photo. He held it close to his face, his mouth watering. “I would pay a pretty penny for this lovely little-”

The man let out a sudden, sharp scream as Gauche’s hand flew out and grabbed his wrist. Asta could hear bones crunching under the pressure his teammate was applying, and the wrist bent at a disturbing angle, fingers releasing Marie’s photo which Gauche snatched up immediately. His other hand went for the man’s throat.

“I am going to kill you,” Gauche said in a flat, quiet voice, “and I am going to make the process slow and painful.” His voice suddenly raised to a shout, “I will claw your eyes out for even LOOKING at my angel, and I’ll rip your THROAT out for what you just said!!!”

The entire bar fell silent at the sound of Gauche’s wrath. Then, chaos broke out. The crowd gathered around the bar counter as Gauche pulled out his grimoire. Reggie rolled his eyes and began preparing a spell directed at the Magic Knight. Asta’s attention went from trying to restrain his friend to getting ready to deflect the attack, but Gauche’s mirror magic shot a beam at the barkeeper, throwing the man off balance. As he hit the ground, the crowd hollered, and fists and magic began flying in every direction. 

In a flash, Gauche had climbed over the counter and was lifting Reggie by his shirt collar. “What kind of shitty business are you running here?” Gauche ducked as a bottle flew by his head, and Reggie ripped free from his grasp, sending a counter attack of dark magic towards the mirror magic user. 

After seeing Gauche holding his own against the rowdy drunkards, Asta wasted no time in using the distraction to his advantage. He hopped the counter himself, and took one more deep breath before turning the knob to the door.


	6. Fantasy/Nightmare (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> internalized homophobia, sexual abuse

For the past few weeks, Finral had been trying to abstain from masturbating. He kept running into a very specific problem: Every fantasy he had involved muscular arms, fingers entangled in tufts of grey hair, the tang of Moguro leaf dancing with his tongue…

Cold water, or a shock from Luck, could work wonders in getting these thoughts out of his mind. 

For a while, Finral didn’t touch himself out of his own internal monologue, the voices of his parents telling him that two men being together was disgraceful… But living with Asta for three years had made him realize two things: First, that most of what Finral’s family told him was a load of shit, and second, that he was deeply, madly falling for the younger boy who taught him the magic of never giving up on what you believe in. Now, he abstained because it just felt wrong to jerk off while thinking about another squad member, and especially to someone as pure and good-hearted as Asta. 

This last shred of light in his breaking mind was all that Finral could cling to as he heard the ambient noise of the bar marking the departure of his tormentor through the bathroom door. The mana was still wrapped around his dick, the vibrations just enough to keep him on a bottomless edge. He couldn’t help but imagine Asta’s jade eyes and beaming smile as he rutted pathetically against the cold tile wall...

Finral had never felt more disgusted with himself.


	7. Rescue (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> vomit, blood, body fluids, panic attacks

Asta retched as the smell finally hit him full on. The air was hot and thick and steamed up the mirror by the sink, which is the first thing Asta saw once his eyes adjusted to the glaring florescent lights of the bathroom. He felt smothered by the reek of piss and musk and vomit and something disturbingly metallic. 

From the furthest stall, Asta heard weak whimpering that made him think of a small animal dying. From under its door, a thick liquid spread, with small rivulets of red running through it, getting caught in the floor tile’s indents. 

Asta’s legs felt numb as he walked towards the stall. At the sound of his footsteps, the whimpering abruptly stopped. “No...please…” a shrill, cracked voice half moaned as the stall door creaked open. 

Asta’s blood went cold. He was frozen in place, looking at Finral who was caught by the wrists and facing the wall right beside the toilet. Asta was expecting to see his friend hurt, but nothing could have prepared him for the abject horror in front of his eyes. 

Finral’s shuddering frame was kneeling, his arms raised above his head, and he weakly tugged one arm in one more feeble attempt to escape. “P-please d-don’t…” 

Finral’s naked back was coated in blood and semen. It crusted into an off-white, opaque layer in his hair and at his neck, and a deep pool of it covered most of the floor, underneath his legs. His knees were in a puddle of his own vomit, and the wall was coated in snot and spit from where his head had been pressed up against it. Finral’s eyes were squeezed shut. His entire body shook violently.

“Finral!” Asta hardly recognized his own voice, which called out quietly even as it screamed inside his head. 

Finral’s eyes flew open, and his head snapped to face the direction of the voice. His glazed-over eyes tried to focus on the figure near the door, and made out a head of grey hair and two green eyes open wide with shock, their color flat and darkened. 

No matter how hard he tried, Finral couldn’t fully register what he was seeing to be real. Pain bit at every surface in his head, and dread and shame and arousal eroded all thought as soon as it came into his mind. His hips bucked slightly, desperate for friction to end the torture vibrating in his groin.

Asta slowly moved towards Finral. The boy on the ground flinched as a hand reached out to him, and he began whimpering once again. Asta froze and lowered his hand. What was he supposed to do in this situation?

“Finral,” he spoke again, “It’s me, Asta. Gauche is here, too, and we’re going to get you out of here.”

Finral paid no attention to these words. His head dropped and faced the wall again, and he rubbed himself against the surface in desperation. 

From the other room, Asta heard a large crash and many thudding noises, followed by complete quiet. In this silence, Asta first noticed the faint vibrating sound echoing off the bathroom walls. He looked closer at Finral, and… “Oh.”

Around Finral’s dick was a thick strand of mana, which wrapped around and pulsated in time with Finral’s thrusts. The strand of magic seemed to absorb and gain extra energy from the excessive amount of precum Finral dripped.

Asta took out his grimoire and summoned the demon-dweller sword. Paying no heed to the nasty wetness and stench, he kneeled down beside his friend.

“Finral… Finral. I need you to look at me,” he said, putting a hand on Finral’s shoulder and gently turning the other boy to face him. Asta spoke slowly. “I’m going to help you now, but I need you to stop moving for just a few seconds. Finral,” when his friend tried to turn his head away, Asta cupped his cheek and turned his head to face him once again. Finral’s hips kept moving as he locked eyes with Asta, and he let out a small moan. Asta continued, “Just for a few seconds. Can you do that for me?”

Finral shuddered and nodded his head. Once he had restrained himself, Asta took the hilt of his sword and brushed it lightly against Finral’s dick. 

A loud groan burst from Finral’s throat as the metal made contact with his skin, and his orgasm ripped through him, making him see white. 

When he became aware of himself again, he noticed that he was fully lying upon the ground. The force behind his release had summoned enough magic to pull himself free from the wall, and his hands lay limp beside him. 

There was a long moment of stillness as Finral gasped for air. When Asta moved, Finral scrambled to sit up and winced. His breathing quickened and he fell into intense panic. “I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so so sorry I’m--”

“Hey, hey. Hold on, take a deep breath. It’s ok. Really, it’s ok,” Asta spoke over Finral as he put a hand on his shoulder once again. He waited for Finral to calm down, and then stood up.

Both boys were silent as Asta went to the sink and grabbed a roll of paper towels. He tried to clean Finral, and then himself, up as best as he could. 

He looked at the bathroom door, and then looked back to the naked form shivering on the floor in front of him. “Wh-what are you doing?” Finral asked in a weak voice as Asta began to remove his pants. 

“I’m putting these on you before we go,” Asta replied, and he helped Finral into the garment. They were ridiculously short on the much longer pair of legs, but they fit around his waist just fine. Asta removed his shirt, too, and put it over Finral’s head. Now fully clothed, Finral held his arms together across his chest, hugging himself tight. 

Even over the horrible stench, Asta’s shirt smelled like cloves and fresh grass and sunshine. Sobs wracked Finrals body, and the shirt got damp with tears. 

It smelled like home.


	8. Eye for an Eye (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> mild gore, blood, referenced child abuse

Gauche cracked another skull against the countertop as the door behind him kicked open. 

He turned, boot still pressed into a fallen man’s face, and saw Asta wearing nothing but underwear, carrying the friend they had spent the whole day looking for. 

Finral was limp, supported by one arm tucked under the backs of his knees and another cradling his shoulders. He shook violently, and his breathing was quick and shallow.

Gauche thought of the battered rag doll Marie used to play with before he had money to buy her better presents. He thought of the half-dead dog that she had begged him to save when they found it on a walk through the park. 

Fresh streams of tears fell from Finral’s deadened eyes, which only seemed to register Gauche for a second before recoiling under the mirror-mage’s harsh gaze and squeezing shut. 

The violet eyes that flinched away from his own didn’t remind Gauche of Finral. They brought forth a memory forever seared into the back of his mind: 

A stinging echo. A noble’s hand slapping his baby sister. Her cry as she fell, just before they were cast onto the streets. The way she shrunk back from him when he reached out to cradle the red mark left on her cheek. 

The look of pain and abject resignation that should never have been set on such a pure, radiant face. 

A grief that they were both too young to understand, that they would never fully process. 

____________________

Gauche’s face was lit with unreadable intensity as Asta’s eyes readjusted to the dark bar room. 

The cloaked bodies covering the floor, combined with the scorch marks lasered onto every surface of the room, affirmed that the loud crash from earlier was Gauche’s Reflect Refrain spell. Only the magic knight remained standing amidst the mass of limbs and blood and black cloth. 

Gauche’s hands were caked in blood. His heel continued to grind into the cheek of the man on the ground beneath him. 

Asta desperately tried to ignore the single eye, sinew in tact, that was floating on the surface of a shot glass on the blood-slick counter. 

“Gauche!” Asta shouted, snapping the mage out of his thoughts. “What did you- Why is there- ...Did you contact the magic knights’ headquarters?” 

Gauche nodded. “I was just about to call Yami, too-”

“No!” Finral’s sharp shout cut him off. His eyes were suddenly terror-stricken, frantically darting between his two friends’ faces. “Please, please don’t tell the others… I…” His voice fell to a trembling whine, “I d-don’t want anyone else to… to s-see me... like this…”

Asta rocked back and forth on his heels, hoping that the action would both release some of his energy and soothe the cowering form hugged against his chest. He took a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay, we won’t call them now. Let’s just focus on getting out of here and going home.”

“Yeah… home…” Finral slurred. His eyes fluttered and then fully closed, and his body completely stilled. The promise of safety worked like a narcotic on his brain, and he was finally able to do what he had been begging himself to do for hours now: He slipped into dark, dreamless unconsciousness.


	9. Ascent/Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> blood, panic attacks

Asta gingerly handed Finral over to Gauche, who grimaced as he felt the grime and dampness on his senpai that Asta couldn’t fully wipe away. Red was spreading on collar of Asta’s shirt. The cuts on the back of Finral’s neck continued to bleed profusely as though they were still fresh.

Rage blinded Gauche, and it took all his effort not to run back into that hellhole just to snap more bones in the sick bastards infesting the place. 

Carefully, Gauche stood on his broom, adjusting his stance to help balance the extra weight he carried. He hovered a few feet in the air until Asta could hang from the bottom, and then took off into the sky. 

They had arrived in Kiten four hours ago. Gauche didn’t want to think about how long Finral might have been stuck there. Instead, he kept his eye fixed on the horizon. The sun was setting, casting a warm orange light on their faces as the sky became a gradient of rose and indigo. 

When they were almost back to headquarters, Asta broke the thick silence that had settled in the wind blowing by. “Gauche, what do we do when we get back? He doesn’t want the others to know, but they’re obviously going to wonder what happened…”

“I’ll create a distraction,” Gauche replied. “Then you can get past anyone in the living room and take him upstairs. Get him clean and put him to bed, and then we’ll tell everyone he needs space to rest and recover. If anyone tries to go in and see him, I’ll kill them. When he wakes up, we’ll figure out what to do from there.”

Asta nodded. Gauche has always been one of the best strategists of the Black Bulls, and his plan seemed sound enough, especially compared to the loss of ideas in Asta’s own head. This plan was immediate, and gave Asta something concrete to think about amidst the suffocating blur of dread settling in his heart. “What kind of distraction will you-”

A scream tore through the air. 

“LET ME GO!” Finral was awake, and his eyes shot open wide, focused on a distant terror as he shouted and writhed in Gauche’s arms. 

In less than a second, the broom began rising and dipping and shaking out of control as the mage standing on it struggled to maintain balance, all while keeping a firm grip on Finral, who began to kick and flail. 

“Finral! What the hell, calm down!” Gauche managed to say over the screaming, but Finral’s cries only grew louder the harder he fought against the person holding him. Gauche’s lost his grip for less than a second as the broom jerked upwards, and… “SHIT!”

Finral slipped from his arms.


	10. Instinct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> blood, panic attacks, referenced sexual assault

It felt as though time slowed down. 

Asta watched Finral begin to fall, his body twisting in the air. Finral was waving his hands in front of himself, and Asta recognized this as the spacial-magician trying to open a portal to fall through. 

His hand gestures got more desperate as no magic came to save him. 

He was free falling. 

Gauche dove down, his broom chasing the falling figure. He reached out, but almost lost his balance in his desperate attempts to catch him.

Asta barely processed what happened next. His instincts kicked in, and in one swift motion, he swung his legs up, wrapping them around the bottom of the broom as his arms let go and grabbed at the air. 

Hanging upside down, he caught the falling boy by the hem of his shirt. 

In the next second, Asta hooked his arms underneath Finral’s and wrapped them around the other boy’s chest, trying to hold him more securely. Still, Finral thrashed and screamed, begging to be released. 

Finral dug his nails into the younger boy’s arms, scratching and pulling at them. Asta held on tighter, and Finral let out a whine, the same suffering, animalistic noise that Asta had heard when he first found his friend in the state of torture he had faced. Asta shouted as teeth clamped down into the bare skin of his shoulder. Still, he did not let go. 

Asta moved one hand up to rest on a head of tawny, wind-matted hair. Even as his muscles strained and red warmth began to drip down his arm, he tried his best to smooth the hair down, drawing circles through it with his fingers and tapping as he spoke as calmly as he could. 

“Finral. Finral, you’re all right. Nobody’s going to hurt you. We’re almost home. We’re almost home.”

__________

Finral was underwater. His neck and head lit up in flame, and he dove down into the numbing depths of an endless ocean in a frantic attempt to put out the fire. It filled up his lungs until he couldn’t breathe and sent him spiraling down, all sense of direction gone. Everything was dark and unfocused, and pain shot through his lower body in surges that felt like he was being electrocuted. 

Something was holding him under, pinned him down and pulled on his shirt and _oh, god, I can’t do this again please please please…_

A hand laced through his hair and he whined, he knew what they wanted and his throat still burned from the last assault and the taste made him want to retch and he had to get away, _shit shit this isn’t what I wanted, I never wanted-_

A gentle rhythm. 

Finral’s hand tingled, it still remembered this pattern now playing on and in his head, the soothing percussive motion of a hand that he knew, of Asta’s hand. Finral placed his own over it, nuzzled into its warm, familiar song. 

A voice.  
Asta’s voice, saying his name and the word home over and over, and the breath of these words reached into Finral’s chest, opened the airways and the saltwater drained through his eyes… 

The darkness returning to him was the same one that promised rest, and he melted into its blissful promise of nothingness. He felt circle after circle drawn on his head cast a tender magic, a protection spell from the sadistic reality he was slipping away from...

Asta’s voice, Asta’s circles, Asta’s warmth and song… Asta…

“Asta... I love you...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I went very metaphorical in these last three chapters, do you think that it works, or are the sentences too short and choppy? There will be more concrete dealings with ptsd once Finral is settled back into life with his Black Bulls family.


	11. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: injuries, blood

When they finally landed, Asta placed Finral gently down on the grass in front of headquarters, and then threw himself down beside him, taking deep breaths and stretching his sore arms and legs. 

After a minute, the grey-haired boy sat up and looked over at Finral, who showed no signs of stirring any time soon. He still shook excessively, and his soft brown hair was damp with his sweat, messy waves clinging to his face. Asta smoothed the hair away from Finral’s eyes. His eyelashes fluttered lightly at the gesture, but did not open. 

A blue and yellow bruise bloomed on Finral’s right cheek, and his mouth and jawline were covered in glaring red bite marks. It didn’t feel right to Asta to look at the gentle, almost peaceful expression on his friend’s sleeping face, which contrasted starkly to the marks of abuse left deep into its skin. 

Despite the state that he had first found Finral in, Asta knew that this moment here was the one that would would be burned into his own mind forever. Time was pivoting, standing on the tip of a sharpened blade. On one side, time stood on the image of the resting face of one of Asta’s closest friends. Finral’s expression brought forth memories of laughter and tenderness. Asta thought of Finral’s lilac eyes, half-lidded and sparkling with deep affection for those who loved and supported him. Even when he seemed annoyed to no end at his treatment from the Bulls, the mild irritation in Finral’s eyes could never hide the glow of love he felt for his friends.

But Asta knew that this memory was slipping away, drifting off into distant nostalgia. The bruises and cuts and injuries flaring up on Finral were testaments to how long pain could latch on to someone. Finral would soon wake up, and would never be the same again. How could he, after the terror he had faced? Time would soon take memory of his happiness hostage and steal it away to the past, leaving the future cruel and unknown. 

Asta gazed at the placid face that he already missed, and he had to stop himself from pressing a feather-light kiss on Finral’s forehead. He knew that, somehow, doing so would be a seal of finality, an act of saying farewell to a gentler past. 

All his life, Asta had only looked forward, towards his dreams and ambitions and shining promises of grand adventures ahead. Never before had he longed so greatly to go backwards. He looked up to the setting sun, staring straight at it as though sheer willpower could force it to travel back eastwards. 

How does anyone move on from here? 

_____________________

Gauche stood beside Asta for some time, looking at his two friends cradled in the long, ferny grass. 

Way back when they were on their first mission together, Asta had taught Gauche that he and his sister were not alone in the world. Asta was the second person, after Marie, that Gauche had ever considered himself close with. 

Now, Gauche no longer felt strange calling the rest of his squad members his friends. He had come a long way in trusting and accepting support from the Black Bulls. If he was being honest, there were still a few people that he didn’t get along with fully, like Luck, who always challenged Gauche to fight as if the little punk had a death wish. 

But Gauche had no distrust whatsoever in Finral, who was always so kind even when he was being irritating. He had always considered Finral a bit of a coward, and never bothered to hide his distaste when the spacial magic user was out of energy. Finral cried all the damn time, and his emotions were way too open, to the point that even someone as stoic as Gauche could read him like a book. 

Now, Gauche’s own chest hurt in a way that he couldn’t fathom. He had felt blinding rage and harrowing sorrow in his lifetime, but they hadn’t so intensely mixed together since he was ripped away from his sister and thrown into prison long ago. His whole range of feelings were usually reserved for his beloved Marie, but his overwhelming emotions now settled into a new conviction in his heart: 

Finral wasn’t just his friend. He was family.

Gauche watched as Asta smoothed down his senpai’s tawny hair. Finral looked like absolute shit. Gauche had been through his own shit before, and knew what kind of mental suffering trauma created. He gritted his teeth, his jaw set tight, and picked at blood crusting underneath his fingernails. 

Gauche should really go back and burn that god-forsaken place to the ground. No survivors.  
Survive… 

God, what was going to happen when Finral woke up? How could he possibly face the world after all that? Gauche took a deep breath. 

On the ground, Finral made a small weak sound, but still did not open his eyes. He looked for all the world like he was dead, like nothing but a weak, vulnerable child who spent his last breaths cowering in pain and fear. 

If Finral’s spirit could survive this, he would be the strongest person Gauche had ever known.


	12. Distraction

Asta and Gauche both snapped back to the present moment when they heard laughter from inside the headquarters. The disconnect between that happy sound and the despair of their friend sent a chill down Asta’s spine. 

Asta and Gauche locked eyes, and Asta gave a self-encouraging nod to his teammate. There was no way to avoid the uncertainties of the future. All they could do now was what Gauche had strategized earlier. Distract everyone. Sneak Finral inside. Whatever happened after that would have to wait for the current mission to unfold first.

Gauche gave one more look to Finral lying on the grass, and then set his jaw, marching straight to the front door. 

He took his grimoire out, and blasted the door clear off the hinges. 

The expression in his eye stayed unreadably neutral as bits of the ceiling inside crumbled and smoke and dust filled the air. Someone inside shrieked; it sounded like Noelle, probably. Then, silence.

Once the dust settled down, all eyes were fixed on the purple-haired mage who filled the broken door frame. Only Noelle looked frazzled from the explosion; The others were all fairly unfazed, although most looked extremely agitated. 

Magna, who looked like he was just woken up from a nap, was the first to speak up. “Gauche! What the hell was that for?!”

Noelle fixed her hair, now looking serious. “Is Asta back, too?”

“Did you two find Finral? Where is he? Where _was_ he? Is he ok?” Vanessa asked, her mannerisms unusually solemn and sober. 

Everybody got up and rushed towards the mage in the door, crowding around him as though he had the answer to every question they were dying to ask. Charmy chewed on a soft pretzel as she ducked her head to look behind Gauche’s legs, trying to use her shorter stature to her advantage. She was having trouble, though, as Gauche kept shifting from leg to leg in order to cut off her vision. 

Gauche lifted his hand. There was a beat of silence as they all watched his gesture, and then…

He blew another hole into the wall behind them. 

Noelle shrieked again. Grey, who was closest to the spot Gauche had aimed for, protected the others as rocks peltered against her large form’s back. Magna jumped and then fell backwards into Gordon, knocking them both to the ground. Charmy’s pretzel went flying from her hand, and she rushed over to where it fell to rescue it from the floor. This time, it was Vanessa’s turn to curse, “Shit! What the fuck are you--”

She was cut off by Gauche, who had taken a deep breath in preparation for hollering at the top of his lungs: “MARIE!!!” He took from his pocket the portrait of his little sister, which was crumpled and torn, smeared with grime and a speckling of blood. 

Everyone’s head whipped back towards Gauche. They all gasped when they saw the photo. Gauche had once threatened to burn off Asta’s fingertips just for touching Marie’s picture. The obsessive brother then spent the next three days trying to wipe away fingerprints that nobody else could see.

Nobody could imagine what Gauche could have possibly gotten into for the state of the picture to happen. Everyone looked distressed as Gauche shouted again, and a small part in the backs of their minds was starting to justify his destruction of their living room. 

This sympathy was short-lived. The third time he blew up a wall, the whole room flew into a state of chaos. 

Magna was the one to shriek this time as the shot skated right past his head. Vanessa was still swearing, trying to get Gauche to lower his arm. He shook her off and continued shooting reflection rays around the room. Luck cackled as he dodged falling chunks of ceiling, picking up the largest ones and throwing them at others like they were playing a game of dodgeball. Disoriented from all of the disarray, Noelle panicked and shot a water spell in no particular direction, which drenched the whole floor and sent Gordon slipping across. Grey had transformed into a second Charmy, and the two stuffed their faces with popcorn and cheered on whoever seemed like they were winning whatever was happening.

A side room door slammed open, and a furious Yami entered the scene, crumpled newspaper in one hand and the dregs of a cigarette in the other. A long line of toilet paper trailed behind him from his shoe. “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON! WHOEVER STARTED THIS IS GONNA DIE!” He dodged a hunk of electrically charged wall that flew by his head, and then began his own attacks, chasing Luck and tackling him to the floor. Charmy and Grey immediately switched teams and cheered on their captain.

Gauche turned his head and looked quickly out the smashed door frame. He gave a short nod to Asta, and then began to move from the entrance, Vanessa in tow as she still clung to his arm. 

_______________________

Asta moved quickly. He scooped Finral back into his arms and snuck into the entrance, staying close to the wall as he navigated his way to the stairs amidst all the confusion. He had almost gotten there undetected, but froze in place as he saw Noelle looking right at him. 

Before she even had time to say his name, Asta sprinted up the staircase. 

A sudden crash made the roof above the second floor landing cave in as soon as Asta was out of sight, and Noelle was stuck with no way to follow him. Even in the short second, she hadn’t missed his half-dressed state, nor the unconscious body of Finral wearing Asta’s clothes…

She had never seen Asta’s eyes look so dark before. 

Noelle felt cold. Asta had defeated absurdly strong opponents, and never faltered or despaired no matter how difficult the situation he was in seemed. Noelle didn’t even know he was capable of making such a stern face. She had only seen it for a second, but was trying to add the pieces together: Asta’s expression, Gauche’s tattered photo, Finral’s unconscious form…

Finral was unconscious, right? He… He wasn’t… 

Noelle shook the thought out of her head and clenched her hands. 

She didn’t have any clue why Asta and Gauche were clearly trying to keep Finral hidden from the rest of the squad, but whatever was happening, it was clear that Asta didn’t want the others to follow him. 

Noelle ducked as a blast of fire went past her, and sighed. Her stomach was in knots, but she did the only thing she could do. Concentrating all of her energy on the spot where Asta and Finral had disappeared, she sent up a prayer, one that she pleaded for every night as a child: 

_Please make everything ok, please make the pain stop, please keep light shining even when the world is relentlessly dark..._


	13. Clean (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> blood, body fluids, injuries, slurs

Asta’s boots clinked against the smooth stone floor as he kicked them off, carrying Finral into the bathroom. His footsteps echoed, blending in with the sound of running water streaming from the golden bull skull hanging over the large, heated bath. Steam rolled like fog along the tile walls and clouded up the line of mirrors on the opposite wall where the washing area was. 

Asta walked over to the line of stools in front of the mirrors and gently set Finral down on one. Finral’s back leaned against the wall, his head drooping to his chest. Asta was getting worried about how long his friend had been unconscious. 

The younger boy walked over to the cubby space where the Bulls stored their towels, soap, and shampoo. Undoubtedly the girls’ side of the bath was kept much neater. On this side, most of the towels were bunched up in a rumpled heap all together, and shampoo containers were left open, often spilling over all of everyone else’s belongings. 

Only Finral’s was kept in order. Asta picked up the neatly folded towel sitting on the top shelf, making sure not to knock over his toothbrush or small bottle of cologne. He grabbed Finral’s soap and shampoo. Asta knew the shampoo’s smell well; Whenever Finral used it, its bright scent would fill the bathroom, making the air feel vibrant and fresh. 

Growing up in Hage village, it was a rare treat to smell nice in any capacity; Only when Sister Lily could gather enough of a sweet-smelling herb could she crush it up and mix it into the soap. Yuno always said her gesture was wasted on Asta, since after a bath the energetic boy would go right back to running and working up a sweat. 

Asta never really understood why smelling good was important. It seemed like a stuffy sort of obsession that he just didn’t have time for. It wasn’t until he had met Finral, and began to associate sage and citrus with kind violet eyes, that he understood how someone could grow fonder of a pleasant smell as he grew fonder of a person.

Asta dug through the heap for his own towel, and grabbed his bar of plain soap. He went to the faucet and filled two buckets with water, and then walked back over to where his friend slouched against the cool tile. 

He removed his underwear and folded them neatly on another stool. Now fully nude, he looked in the mirror. He could make out the red marks on his shoulder from where Finral had bit him during the flight back. He looked down at his own knees and saw the disgusting state they were in from kneeling on that floor, and his arms were still slightly speckled by the stain from when Finral had… well… 

Asta felt incredibly self-conscious as he removed his own shirt from Finral’s body. It was soaked in sweat and blood, and Asta had to slowly peel it off of him and pull it over his head. Finral made a soft, pained noise as the shirt moved over his neck, which still bled as if its cuts were new. 

Asta gently lifted Finral’s hips and removed his pair of pants. He winced when he saw once again the heartbreakingly appalling state that Finral’s naked form was in. Asta had done what he could to clean them up back when he found him, but dry paper towels could only do so much. 

Finral was still crusty with blood and semen. Beneath the nasty layer of body fluid, almost every surface of his skin was bruised dark blue. His chest and back were covered with fingernail scratches, and his nipples were bright red and looked painfully swollen, with two sets of nasty teeth marks circling them.

Asta gritted his teeth and tried his best not to punch the wall. He didn’t know when the others might come upstairs and try to find them. He had to stay composed to get them both clean and bring Finral to his room.

Asta lathered some soap in his hands and began by gently massaging it onto Finral’s arms. Asta then moved on to wash his own arms. He then did Finral’s legs, then his own, and so on. 

He tried his best to wash Finral’s lower regions without being intrusive, but Finral flinched and whined from in his dream-state when Asta got so close as his upper thighs. Asta pulled his hand away, but Finral still stayed comatose. 

Asta poured water over both of them to rinse off the soap, and watched as the grime washed away down the drain. He squeezed some of the fancy shampoo into his hand and began to work on scrubbing Finral’s hair. He carefully worked his fingers through thick tangles and matted brown locks. When he poured the water gently over Finral’s head, the boy’s hair stuck wet and flattened to his head. Little cowlicks began to spring up where it started to dry, and as Asta tried to smooth them back down, he couldn’t help but think how endearing they were.

As Asta’s hand smoothed down Finral’s hair, he reached the back of his friend’s head, and Finral flinched violently once again. When he took his hand away, Asta saw that it was stained dark red. 

The cut on the back of Finral’s neck had been bothering Asta this whole time. He’s had his fair share of injuries, and knew that any sort of normal cut should already be starting to scab over and heal by now. His mind flashed back to the bar, to the man sauntering out of the bathroom and holding a knife. Asta shivered, remembering the words the man had said with a smirk on his face; _“I even decided to give him a little gift”._ Just what sort of knife was he holding?

Asta dipped the corner of a towel into the water bucket and gently turned Finral around, holding him up with one hand as the other began to clean away the blood oozing down his back. Old blood rinsed off normally, but each time a feather-light wipe passed over the neck, the wound immediately became a waterfall of scarlet once again.

Huffing, Asta took the whole towel and pressed it to the back of Finral’s neck, applying pressure. Finral’s unconscious reaction almost convinced Asta that his friend had awoken, as he wailed and tried to jerk forward out of reach. Asta held fast, and after a minute removed the towel once again.

For just a few seconds, the bleeding had stopped. The damp cloth had cleared his neck of blood, and the cut marks were clear. 

Asta’s short, clear shout ricocheted off the ceiling and walls, echoing back in a sharp staccato. He felt disconnected from reality. He tried to blink, hoping that what he saw wasn’t real, but each time he opened his eyes, he saw the same image in front of him. 

Engraved deep into the skin and muscle behind Finral’s head, four bold, capital letters in bright, screaming red. 

S L U T.

Asta kept blinking, and realized his vision was getting blurry. He was crying. 

He had managed to stay so strong and levelheaded ever since he found his friend and took him away from the torture he endured. Despite the clear story that the state of Finral’s body painted, maybe this whole time, some part of the younger boy still hadn’t fully processed what had happened. He had refused to let any image of what Finral experienced in his mind, because he knew he just couldn’t handle that. 

But this word, this damned, spiteful word, carved into the smooth skin of someone so soft, so kindhearted and compassionate and full of love… Someone who Asta loved…

Asta shouted again, this time louder. He yelled until his breath was gone and his throat was sore. In one arm, Asta cradled Finral tightly to his chest, his tears spilling onto his poor companion’s hair. With the other, he slammed his fist into the floor over and over, cracking the tile until the hard stone made his hand bleed. Blood gushed again from Finral’s neck, covering the obscene message in its metallic smell. 

Asta was in the middle of another hoarse shout when the door to the baths slammed open. In walked Yami, looking tense and stern and bewildered. “What the hell is going on?!”

Asta’s head shot towards the door. “Yami!” he said through stuttering breaths, “Finral needs a doctor. We need to find a doctor…!”

“We’ll find someone right now.” Yami didn’t hesitate in responding. He approached his two squad members, naked on the bathroom floor. One of them looked dead, and the other looked close to death, or close to murder. As the leader approached them and tried to take a look at Finral, the Asta smacked Yami’s hand away and held on to the other’s form even tighter, his body wracked with sobs and blocking Finral from view. 

Christ, this kid had been through hell and back more times than Yami could count, but this was the first time he’d ever seen him cry. 

Yami’s scowl grew deeper.

Some fucker was gonna have hell to pay.


	14. A Brother, A Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Referenced child abuse

Langris clicked his tongue in irritation as he sauntered down the hall of the Golden Dawn’s headquarters towards Mimosa’s room. The foolish girl had rushed out to join Klaus and that peasant on their latest mission, and forgot to hand in her reports on the last dungeon that the trio had explored. Normally, Langris would have sent some underling to go fetch the papers for him, but everyone in the headquarters was out on some errand or another, and the Vice Captain was the only one around with half a brain to remember to file reports by the deadline. Langris didn’t hesitate before pushing Mimosa’s door open and striding inside.

The plant mage’s room was elegantly furnished, with a canopied bed and rosewood furniture set detailed with intricate gold trim. The walls were adorned with dried flowers, and sunshine from the large bay window caught upon the crystal perfume bottles on her dresser, casting dappled beams of light onto the many plants taking up floor space. 

Langris went to her desk and scowled at how disorganized it was. Papers littered the desk with no sense of order. Some looked like half-finished mission reports, and others were illegible from the number of doodles filling the page. An old mug of lavender tea leaned precariously close to the desk’s edge, sitting on top of a stack of books on healing magic.

Langris huffed and began rifling through the papers, looking for the documents he needed. With no luck finding anything worth his time on the top of the desk, he opened its side drawers and began to search.

The drawer was packed with unopened magenta envelopes, all labeled “To My Dearest Sister” in obnoxiously elaborate calligraphy. Kirsch sent her a letter every week, and every time the delivery owl dropped the mail on Mimosa’s lap, the vein on the girl’s forehead would look ready to pop. 

Langris didn’t think about how similar this drawer was to his own desk’s, filled to the brim with discarded messages from an irritating, pathetic older brother.

The second drawer was almost entirely empty, save a worn down journal made of light pink leather, with the script “My Diary” at the top. Langris picked up the book and flipped through its pages. So many pages of the most useless details of her time with the Golden Dawn, and then page after page of soppy love notes to… Asta?

Langris huffed and clapped the book shut, unceremoniously tossing it back into the drawer before slamming it shut. It was enough that the scatterbrained girl hung out with that pretty-boy newbie from the Forsaken Realm. But what could she possibly see in that disgusting little loudmouth from hick country, who had no magic and hung around with the worst squad of the Magic Knights? What a disgrace to the Vermillion house’s name. It’s fools like her that bring embarrassment upon the noble families these days.

Not finding what he was looking for, Langris pivoted on his heel to march out of the room. As soon as he had reached the door, however, he heard a muffled sound coming from Mimosa’s desk. Returning to it, he dug beneath the heaps of paper and pulled out a small golden communicator, with someone speaking on the other end. 

“Mimosa! Mimosa, are you there?” a rushed female voice asked. “Please answer, I’m at the Black Bulls headquarters and we really need you to come help us!”

A deeper voice in the distance from the girl spoke up, “This is a waste of time, Noelle! What we really should do is-”

And another voice, which Langris had the displeasure of recognizing as that lowlife Asta’s: “It’s not a waste of time, Mimosa’s an incredible healer! And the Golden Dawn headquarters is close enough that-”

Langris felt a headache coming on from the grating noise of the animals on the other end of the comm. He rubbed his temples and debated just walking out, but after a second found himself answering, “Mimosa isn’t here.”

The voices on the other side paused, and the girl spoke softer, “Who is this?”

“This is the Vice Captain of the Golden Dawn speaking. To what do I owe this displeasure?”

A few quiet gasps and a whispered “It’s his brother” responded.

Langris rolled his eyes. “If this is something about that disgrace of a spacial mage you lot call a friend, then I have no time for-”

“Langris!!” Asta’s voice was suddenly even louder, as if he had grabbed the comm from the girl and was shouting while holding it three inches from his mouth. “Langris, where’s Mimosa? Please, Finral’s hurt and we need to get a healer to him as fast as possible…”

“That coward has no pain tolerance,” Langris replied, his voice taught, “Let me guess? He took a punch, and is blubbering like a baby? Don’t waste my team’s time on your own little problems-”

Asta cut him off again. “I’m serious, Langris! He’s been unconscious for hours, and has lost way too much blood. Nothing we can do can stop it!”

“Well, what happened to him?” Something about the slight note of hysteria in the peasant’s voice felt off enough to Langris for him to entertain the notion of seeming worried.

Even stranger was the quiet tone the voice took on after a long moment of hesitation. “I… I can’t tell you that…”

“I’m really failing to see why I should care,” Langris replied with a tone of disinterest.

Asta was back to full volume. “Come on, Langris! I know you hate Finral, and I’m not trying to make you change your mind. But I have no doubt that if it were you, Finral would do everything he could to save his little brother!”

……

A memory flooded back to Langris’s mind. 

It was his sixth birthday, and he was disappointed to be stuck inside doing lessons all day instead of spending time out in the warm weather. Staring out the window to the estate’s courtyard, Langris watched as birds bathed in the marble fountain. Sighing, he turned his attention back to his textbook, when suddenly… 

_Thunk._ A small stone hit against the window’s frame. Langris ignored it. _Thunk._ Another hit the glass.

Looking out, Langris saw Finral holding a small handful of pebbles and taking aim once again. When they made eye contact, Finral dropped all the stones and waved excitedly to his brother, his smile beaming. Langris just looked on, noting the bright sun shining and the birds singing and the scuff marks on Finral’s shoes, showing that he had been exploring the outdoors…

When Finral motioned for Langris to join him, the younger boy didn’t hesitate. He asked to be excused to use the bathroom, and then ran out the back door. 

A strange rift between the two brothers was already beginning to develop at this very young age, as their mother insisted on keeping Langris isolated from his unruly sibling. But moments like these, when the two were running and laughing at the sheer delight of being free, always made young Langris wonder why he didn’t try harder to stay close to Finral. 

The two boys ran into the woods behind the mansion, crunching leaves and pine needles beneath their feet as they went forward into the curtain of trees. Finral led Langris up a hill and across a stream and over many rocks, and it was about an hour before the two had stopped to catch their breath. 

“Ok, now close your eyes,” Finral instructed and took Langris’s hand, leading him a short ways further. When they stopped, Finral turned his brother to face the right before telling him to open his eyes again. 

In front of him, Langris looked upon a grassy clearing. Many sticks and twigs were placed strategically on the ground, spelling out in large font “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LANGRIS!” The words were bordered by blue and yellow wildflowers, which bees and butterflies landed on in soft contentment. 

Langris’s eyes shone with wonder as he turned around to face his brother. Finral reached into his pocket and held out a card he had made, a shy blush on his cheeks as Langris opened it, revealing a carefully drawn and water-colored image of the two of them together, smiling.

This was one of the only moments where Langris could remember hugging his brother.

Langris and Finral spent a rare afternoon smiling and spending time together, and both boys were reluctant to head back home when the sun began to set, no doubt expecting a severe scolding upon return. Finral led the way again, and they moved as fast as possible to make it back before dark.

Finral hoisted himself onto the top of one of the large boulders they had to cross, and reached out a hand to help Langris up. When he was almost to the top, however, Langris’s footing slipped. He fell hard onto the craggy rocks below.

Langris remembered a loud crunch and sharp pain shooting up his leg as he began to wail. Through teary eyes, he made out the worried face of Finral, who was right by his side inspecting his now broken leg. 

Finral took his tunic and wrapped the leg as best as he could, and then hoisted Langris onto his back. Neither brother had developed much control over their magic yet, and Finral couldn’t teleport them back. Instead, he marched on through the rough wooded path with the other boy in tow, struggling forward and catching himself every time he stumbled.

“You’re gonna be ok. We’re almost back, and then the family doctor will heal you right up.” Finral’s long string of comforting words reassured Langris, and soon the injured boy stopped crying. “That looked like it really hurt, but you’re so strong and brave, and everything’s gonna be ok. Just hold on.”

Langris wasn’t allowed to see Finral again for six months after that, and never again could he go outside unsupervised. He remembered getting back and being snatched up by his mother as their father screamed and made a fist, raising it towards Finral…

……

“Langris? Are you still there? Answer me!” 

A shout over the comm broke Langris out of his memories, and he shook his head to get the past out of his mind. It was memories like this, ones that reminded him how weak he used to be and how… how reckless his stupid brother was, that made him never want to hear his dishonored name again.

The voices on the comm still rang out as Langris turned and stomped out the door.


	15. Capture (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: rape, verbal degradation/humiliation, blood, slurs

“Tell me, Finral,” Finral felt a weight against his bare back. 

The men he had been running from had herded him into a seedy bar, and then a seedier bathroom. Finral swore as he tried to push through to the other side of the portals that caught his wrists like handcuffs. He was so close to escaping home, but he couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t getting fully through. He tried to pull his hands back to himself, maybe to punch one of these guys and try for the exit again, but he had the same bad luck. His arms wouldn’t budge.

The weight on his back was his own grimoire. One of the men used him like a table and flipped through the pages. 

The voice sneered. “Are you a virgin?”

Finral’s throat went dry. This couldn’t be happening. 

As cruel laughter echoed across the tiles, Finral shuddered. He had expected the worst but prayed that he was wrong, that maybe these guys took his clothes just to make some extra cash before beating him up and blackmailing the magic knights. 

A second, lewder voice cemented his most disturbing fears. “I’m telling you, he can’t be! Not with pretty lips like that.”

“He was trying to get into that bitch’s skirt before we tried to take her,” a third said.

Finral thought back to the girl he had just rescued from the same guys who now held him captive. He obviously had to save her, and wasted no time in pursuing the man that grabbed her arm. However, Finral got careless as he sighed a breath of relief after seeing her get away through his portal. Without time to react, he felt not one, but four clammy pairs of hands pulling him backward by his arms, his shirt, his waist, his hair...

“Bullshit,” the fourth voice piped in. “This whore’s made for taking cock. I can see it in the little fag’s face.”

“Shut up! I wanna hear his answer. Well, you ever been fucked before, sweetheart?”

Finral started to cry. 

He couldn’t help it. He cursed again, trying not to sob aloud, frustrated at his own lack of control over his emotions. Even if he were to break free, any idea of trying to intimidate these men washed down the drain along with his streaming tears. 

The man closest to his head cooed and stroked his hair. “Aw, it’s ok! Nothing to be ashamed of. Virgins sell for a lot more, after all!”

“Not that he’s gonna be one by the time we’re done with him!” all the men laughed again.

The one looking through his grimoire guffawed. “He doesn’t have a single attack spell anywhere in here! Looks like all he’s good for is opening holes after all.”

“And he couldn’t even do that right! It’s his own fuckin’ fault he’s here like this, with his ass sticking out so nicely” Finral yelped as a finger jabbed into his ass, trying to worm its way through the pucker.

There was more laughter as Finral kicked out and tried desperately to wrench his arms free once again. He thrashed as a second finger entered him, and then a third. He had never experienced such a revolting feeling in his life, of burning and stretching and violation.

“Stop!” he cried, and was surprised when they actually did. The fingers left, and the weight of the grimoire on his back lifted. Finral instinctively sighed from relief, his muscle tension lessening.

One second later, he screamed. 

A heavier weight, that of a whole bulking man, crushed him from behind, and he wasted no time in driving his cock into Finral’s unprepared hole with a single, brutal thrust. The laughter around him grew louder, but Finral could hardly hear it over the ringing in his head. 

“See?” the man panted right into his ear. “That was much easier than it could have been because you stopped being so tense, like a good boy. You’re gonna make an excellent whore.” A tongue dipped deep into Finral’s ear canal, and he felt like he was going to throw up. 

Finral screamed again and again as the man immediately took up an aggressive pace. He was being torn in half. His eyes saw red, and he felt warm liquid running down his thighs as he started to bleed. 

He flailed around uselessly, trying to get away somehow. He started to feel like he was leaving his body, desperately willing the searing pain to numb. He heard his grimoire clap shut and a voice saying not to worry about it before marching out the door, but Finral felt like the message was transmitted from a different world. 

All he could do was scream, and scream, and scream until his voice was raw.


	16. Waking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: injuries, vomit, referenced child abuse, panic attacks, drug reference

Finral’s eyes snapped open while he was still mid-scream. The sound tapered out, however, as he noticed where he was. He was in his own bed, looking up at the ceiling of his own bedroom. He loosened his grip on the sheets underneath him, which were drenched in sweat. The room smelled familiar, like oranges, and unfamiliar, like antiseptic and medicinal herbs. 

He tried to turn his head, but flinched at the pain in his neck. His hands reached up to touch it and felt cotton bandages wrapped around. He flinched again when he heard someone nearby clear their throat.

“Master Finral,” a hauntingly familiar voice said. It’s deep, calm tone was like a shot of nostalgia through Finral, and his mind flashed with memories of scraped knees and cough medicine and lollipops after checkups. The face connected to the voice appeared in Finral’s view, looking down at him.

“Doctor… Hawthorne?” Finral whispered, convinced that this must be a dream. The doctor had worked for the House of Vaude for decades, dealing with everything from his father’s childhood colds to the birth of Finral’s baby brother. Finral had spent a lot of time with Dr. Hawthorne, as the boy got sick frequently, and injured even more often. 

The doctor’s wrinkled face softened as his clear eyes looked into Finral’s own. “Good morning, Master Finral,” he said. “Or, good evening, rather. You’ve been asleep for 27 hours now. Welcome back to the world.”

“What are you… Why are you…” Finral weakly stammered out. He couldn’t wrap his head around seeing someone who he thought cut all ties off with once he left the family behind.

“Master Langris sent a message to summon me here, stating that it was an emergency.”

“Oh,” Finral ended lamely. He tried to remember anything about what happened before he apparently passed out. How did Langris know what happened?

“Ah!” Trying to sit up proved to be the spark that made every second of torture flood back into Finral’s memory. Stinging pain shot through his lower back, and stinging tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “Oh god, oh god, shit shit shit--” 

“Be careful!” Dr. Hawthorne exclaimed, firmly pushing Finral’s shoulder so that he was lying back down. “Your internal lacerations are still healing. If you move abruptly, you’ll open them up again.

Finral winced and sucked in a breath. Any sense of comfort at seeing his old doctor was long gone. Instead, he felt upset. He rather would have never woken up at all.

Golden mana hummed faintly around him as the doctor’s light magic worked on healing Finral’s body. Finral squirmed. The energy was gentle, but it still felt too invasive. He knew the magic was trying to heal his physical traumas, but he could feel it prodding and moving through his gut, and he wretched. 

“Stop! Please, stop!” he shouted, eyes slamming shut and hands clenching into fists once again.

The light and feeling stopped immediately, and the returning pain resounded throughout his body, making him whimper.

“My apologies, Master Finral.”

Suddenly, there was a sharp banging on the door, followed by a boot kicking it in and a loud shout, “Finral! You’re finally awake!” Asta sprang into the room. He had dark circles under his eyes and a worry line set between his eyebrows. He clearly hadn’t slept at all since the doctor arrived.

“How many times must I tell you, young man! You are not permitted to enter without my direct permission!” Dr. Hawthorne raised his voice and tried to push Asta back into the hallway.

“Please, I just want to see him!” Asta yelled. “Finral, how are you doing?! Are you ok?! Do you need anything?!”

“What he needs more than anything is peace and quiet!” The doctor finally managed to push the strong boy back out to the hallway and slammed the door shut.

The doctor walked over to the room’s small table and picked up a glass of dark green liquid. He walked it over to Finral and slowly helped the boy sit up by propping more pillows under his head.

“Master Finral, please drink this.” He lifted the glass to Finral’s mouth. “It’s an herbal mixture meant to help restore hydration and to promote calmness. You’ve lost a lot of fluid in the past few days.”

Finral accepted the bitter-tasting drink, but he only finished a few sips before he lurched over and threw it back up off the side of his bed.

“Oh dear,” the doctor sighed, and grabbed a rag to clean up the mess. “Perhaps we should try again in a little while.”

This was just how Finral remembered every visit to the doctor before. The man was an excellent healer and showed great care towards Finral’s well being, but he never directly addressed the situation that got Finral hurt in the first place. Often, it meant that Finral would sit with an ice pack, getting scolded for bumping his head again, when the reality was that his mother or father had struck him, or that Langris attacked him with a spell. 

Typically, Finral would cry to the doctor until he couldn’t any longer, frustrated at how unfair it was that someone else hurt him and the doctor could turn a blind eye to it. Dr. Hawthorne never reacted to his emotional distress. In a way, Finral was almost thankful for this at this moment. He couldn’t stand the idea of seeing anyone’s reaction to how he was right now. For the time being, he didn’t have to put words to what had happened.

There was another loud knock at the door, and the doctor huffed. “For the last time, you are not permitted to--”

“What are you saying to me, old man?” Looming in the door frame was not Asta, but rather an angry Yami, leering down with his strong arms folded across his chest.

The doctor jumped. “Captain Yami! My most sincere apologies, sir. I mistook you for--”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Yami pushed his way into the room and sat down on the stool beside Finral’s bed. Finral froze as his eyes met his captain’s. 

“You must feel like absolute shit, huh?” Yami spoke flatly. Finral just stared back with dead eyes.

“Is this doctor treating you fine? I didn’t want to let him in here because your shitty brother sent him, and I still just don’t trust that kid. But it turns out he does care for you, Finral,” Yami spoke.

Finral just stared back.

“Hey, say something, will ya? You’re stressing me out with those sad puppy eyes of yours.” Yami grabbed Finral’s shoulder and shook him.

“Please, do not manhandle the patient!” cried Dr. Hawthorne, who pulled Yami’s arm away.

“Shit. Yeah. Sorry,” Yami replied, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ve never been really good at this comforting stuff. I’m just trying to get through to my right-hand man.”

Despite all of the commotion, Finral’s expression still didn’t change. He did, however, dart his eyes away, staring spacily at the ceiling.

Yami sighed and stood up. He put an arm around the doctor’s shoulders, pulling him over to a different side of the room. “What’s the update, doc?”

“Master Finral’s injuries are severe. When I arrived, he was in critical condition. I’ve been healing him constantly with various spells, and his body is slowly healing. However, when he awoke he seemed distressed, so I’ve halted for now.” 

The doctor sighed. “While my magic is working adequately on his exterior, it doesn’t seem to be working properly on his inner injuries. Typically, the healing is dramatically faster and relatively senseless. I halted because of his panic towards the sensation inside his lower abdomen and anus. It can heal on its own, but ideally, he will be able to consume the sedative I brewed, and I can resume treatment--”

The doctor was cut off as Yami grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed him into the wall. “Don’t you dare,” he growled, “go putting anything up inside him again. He told you to stop, so you better stop. He’s traumatized, and he doesn’t need to be feeling any more shit than what’s already fucked him up. I’m not about to let you drug him up and wreck his mind even more! You hear me?” 

“My apologies, Captain! My apologies!” the doctor squeaked. 

“Yeah, well, you can keep them.” Yami glared for a moment longer before sighing and dropping the doctor. “What’s making your mana suck so badly?”

Dr. Hawthorne straightened his shirt collar and cleared his throat. “My magic works by enhancing the mana already within a patient and providing extra energy that can heal them more efficiently. My theory is that this isn’t working on Master Finral because his natural mana is currently absent. This could be connected to the absence of his grimoire…”

From the bed, Finral drifted in and out of listening to the conversation on the other side of the room. He knew he should try to pay attention since it involved him, but his disassociation wouldn’t let him stay inside his own head for too long at a time. 

He did, however, overhear the mention of his grimoire. He immediately tried to summon it, but then remembered the men who set it on his back to rifle through before walking out the door with it. His pulse quickened, and he began to panic once more. 

“They took my grimoire. They took it… I wasn’t even thinking about that, but they have it, oh god--”

Yami was back to Finral’s side in an instant, and put his hand on his shoulder once more. “Listen, Finral,” he began slowly, restraining his wrath behind each word. “I swear to god, I’m going to find out who took your grimoire, and I’m going to kill that fucker. I’ll get it back to you if it’s the last fucking thing I do.”

Yami sat and looked at Finral with conviction until the younger man’s breathing returned to normal.

“Captain,” the doctor piped in from where he was standing. “There is one more thing you should know. I’ve managed to stall the blood loss from the cuts behind the patient’s neck, but no amount of magic I try is able to fully heal them. I fear they’re the work of a magic item, designed to preserve an injury indefinitely. In other words…”

“We can’t get that fucking word off his back, huh?” Yami finished.

“What word?” Finral asked softly. Yami’s eyes met his once again, but now they were filled with distress and grief. 

He couldn’t bring himself to answer.


	17. Room Visits Part 1 (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> injuries, eating disorders, graphic flashbacks to assault, verbal humiliation, self-blame
> 
> This chapter should be readable even if you don't like to read the graphic non-con parts. You just have to skip over the italicized portions. 
> 
> As always, let me know if you'd like anything else tagged in the future.

Finral was surprised when he learned that three more days passed as the doctor took care of him. He passed all of that time staring at the ceiling, or drinking medicine, or giving one-word answers to questions he couldn’t fully process, like “Is that captain of yours always such a brute?” or “Are you sure you don’t want to try my healing magic again?”

Finral was adamantly against having whatever weird sensation the doctor’s magic caused inside him again. He hated the idea of having anything put in him, including even food. The doctor insisted that he was fully cleaned up internally, but closing his eyes brought back memories of spit and seed and red, searing pain being forced inside him, and he would gag uncontrollably for minutes straight until his stomach confirmed itself empty. 

He hadn’t eaten or slept at all since waking up. 

As time went on, Finral’s thoughts began getting clearer, and he longed for the fuzz that settled in his brain not to abandon him. With memories of his assault looming at the corners of his mind, any small motion threatened to wrench him back into that horrific scenario. Instead, he took to lying still and focusing on the pain of what still hurt: the dull pounding in his temples, the rough scratches in this throat, the clear stinging of the slice marks behind his neck. Eventually, he could pick out the specific throb of the bruises on each of his ribs as his lungs pushed against them for air.

This was another benefit of not using magic to heal: The physical pain was the only companion Finral had anymore. Without it, he’d have no choice but to confront the psychological damage that slaughtered the Finral that everyone knew and left a sad, wretched creature in its place. 

When that third day came, Finral was befriending the sting in his tired, sunken eyes as he heard the doctor close his medicine case. “It’s time for me to take my leave, Master Finral,” the patient half-heard, turning over to face the doctor with a look of confusion. Doctor Hawthorne continued, “Your father took a minor fall down the stairs and has summoned me to take a look at the sprain, so I must be on my way. I will alert your captain and inform him to have someone check on you throughout the day.”

“No, wait-” Finral began to say, but gave up after the doctor briskly walked out the door. Finral collapsed back onto the bed, and the needling dread that he knew would come with this moment began to chew away at him. Soon, he was going to have to face his teammates.

____________________________________

Magna couldn’t stand the mood of the base anymore. Ever since he and his teammates heard Asta’s screaming from the baths the other day, the air felt chilled and a miserable atmosphere fell heavy on the squad’s shoulders. Yami was the only one allowed in to see Finral or the doctor, and getting information out of the Captain felt impossible with the dark aura the already intimidating man was giving off. Only Asta seemed brave (or stupid) enough to pester Yami, and though the Captain halfheartedly sent death threats to the boy, Asta did succeed in getting information that Finral’s condition became stable and that most of his injuries were healing fine. 

Asta’s eyes looked more determined than Magna had ever seen them in the past few days, if that was even possible. He paced up and down the stairs all day and slept in the hallway outside Finral’s door each night, waiting for an opportunity to see him. The boy slammed straight into Yami’s chest while he sprinted up the stairs for the umpteenth time. Even while Luck chuckled, Yami didn’t look amused. He picked the grey-haired kid up by the scruff of his collar and carried him to the front door, tossing him far outside. “Go train in the forest, kid. You’re going to drive me batshit if you keep moving around here like that,” Yami said flatly. 

Three hours later, Asta was still outside somewhere and the base was silent, letting more of the tension seep into the still air. Magna was losing a game of cards to Charmy as the doctor walked down the stairs and into the common room. The eyes of the Black Bulls all snapped to his direction.

The doc looked like a deer in headlights under everyone’s intense stares, but he soon composed himself and scanned the room. “Is your Captain here?” he asked.

Gordon appeared right behind the doctor and whispered, “Captain Yami went to the bathroom exactly half an hour ago. He brought his newspaper, which means he will be another 45 minutes and 36 seconds… 35 seconds… 34 seconds…”

The doctor squealed and jumped away from the voice right next to his ear. Luck laughed again, and the doctor reassessed the room. Vanessa was lying in her underwear next to Grey, whose large form let out a heavy sigh. Gauche was whittling a piece of wood to look like his sister, his nose dripping blood all over the coffee table. Although he felt bad for the petrified doc, Magna was anxious for news and sat forward, his delinquent’s scowl set firmly across his face. 

“Very well…” the doc squeaked, clearly shaken by everyone’s appearance. He eventually locked eyes with Noelle, who sat up straight with her hands folded across her lap. Looking relieved to see another noble, the doctor spoke solely at her even while addressing the whole group. “I must be on my way, but Finral will require supervision throughout the next few days. He will need medicine every three hours, and really needs encouragement to eat. He also should not be allowed near any sharp or dangerous objects when unsupervised. I’ve placed protocol magic on his room so that no more than two visitors can enter at a time. He’s still quite shaken and may be easily overwhelmed, but I do believe that seeing his friends may do him some good-” 

Before he could finish his sentence, everyone in the room jumped to their feet. The action made the doctor jump, too, and he finished quickly with a high-pitched “Good day!” before scrambling out the front door. 

Completely silent, the Black Bulls all locked eyes with each other. Luck was poised to sprint. Vanessa stared daggers into Magna. Even Gauche put down his craft materials, getting poised to run up the stairs. 

The first person to make a break for it was Gordon, who was closest to the steps. He turned on his heel and began marching up, signaling the start of the race to Finral’s door. Magna knew exactly what was up. Everybody wanted to be the first to see Finral, himself included. Soon, he was throwing fireballs in a chaotic attempt to distract others and make it up the stairs first.  
_________________________________________

Should he pretend he was feeling better? Should he act happy to see them? Finral wasn’t even sure he could look anyone in the eye. Could he get away with pretending to sleep? 

Finral had little time to mull these ideas over before his door slammed open, a cloud of noise and commotion filling the hallway. “Magna! You god-damned virgin delinquent!!” a familiar woman’s voice pierced through the sounds of thundering footsteps and spells crashing off of walls. Before Finral could even focus his eyes on the figures crowding the hallway, his door slammed back shut, leaving a panting Magna and grinning Luck inside the room with him.

Luck and Magna looked at each other and high-fived in victory. “Alright, we made it in!” Magna celebrated, but he froze as he caught first sight of Finral, who stared with hollow eyes, shell-shocked at the whole chaotic scene. 

To put it lightly, Finral looked like absolute shit. His eyes were cloudy and circled by dark rings, and his skin looked sickly pale. His face looked too thin from undereating, and his whole body shuddered with every breath he took. Magna shrunk back a bit under his gaze, regretting how loudly he barged in. Still, he was determined to keep the mood optimistic, taking to heart the doctor’s advice that friends are the best medicine. 

“I feel bad for everyone else. We’ve all been dying to check in on you, Finral!” Magna looked away from Finral, focusing on the door. “Still, I guess it’s not very manly to push a lady out of the way…”

“Haha, yeah, Vanessa’s gonna kill you!” Luck cheered, still hopping around from the adrenaline of the chase. 

Finral winced. While bedridden, he’d entertained the notion of seeing people again for about half a second before shaking the thought from his head, knowing that his teammates’ big personalities would grate against how empty he felt inside. Finral had always admired Magna’s clear, straightforward ideals that made the delinquent proud to be a man. Right now, though, the reminder of Magna’s devotion to “manliness” sparked a sour memory…

_Finral’s legs gave out beneath him and he collapsed onto his knees, his hands still caught in the wall high above his head. The first man had just finished inside of him and pulled out, and Finral could feel hot liquid oozing down the inside of his thigh._

_The other men applauded their friend, who zipped up his pants and gloated, “What a perfect fucktoy you are! Your ass is so tight, and it looks so pretty with my juices covering it. I’ll tell ya, I’ve fucked my fair share of guys, but you felt so good I could’ve mistaken you for a girl!”_

“Speaking of manliness,” Magna continued as he and Luck took seats in the chairs next to Finral’s bed, “Asta told us about how you saved that girl in Kiten, Finral. That was super manly! I’m sure she and her friends were crazy impressed. Asta won’t tell us any more than that though, and we were wondering...”

Magna hesitated before continuing, but Luck jumped in first, “What happened after that? Did you fight the guy who attacked her? Was he strong? Did you kill him?”

_Finral tried to blink away tears. “F-fuck you,” he said shakily._

_“Oh ho ho!” the man chuckled, zipping up his pants. He grabbed Finral’s jaw and forced the captive boy to look at him. “Those are big words coming from a whore who never even tried to fight back. But now that you’re nice and warmed up, my friends here can really take care of you, sweetheart.”_

Finral still hadn’t said a word, and Magna panicked when he saw the tears building at the corners of his friend’s eyes. He placed a firm hand onto Finral’s shoulder, which finally seemed to snap him out of the trance he was in. 

Magna forced a smile. “Hey, hey, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna. Luck and I are here to support you however you need.”

Finral looked down at his own hands, refusing to meet Magna’s eyes for even a second. Of course he loved his friends, but what kind of support could they offer right now? He felt ashamed to be near two of the strongest, most confident people he knew when he couldn’t even save himself from being treated as less than human. He felt even more ashamed that he couldn’t answer their questions. If they knew what he had let himself be put through, Luck and Magna would no doubt be just as disgusted as Finral was with himself.

As Finral’s thoughts spiraled, Magna searched his brain for anything he could do or say to make Finral feel even a little more comfortable. He patted his coat pocket and his eyes lit up. “Oh, hey! The doctor said you might be hungry. I was saving this for later, but do you want it?” Magna held out a sugar cookie in the shape of a sheep, courtesy of Charmy from earlier that day. 

“No thanks...” Finral said.

Magna went to put the cookie back in his pocket, a bit worried that Finral still didn’t want to eat. Still, he took the fact that he had spoken at all, even if it was just two words, as a good sign. 

Before he could put the cookie away, though, Luck snatched it from him asking, “Can I have it, then?”

“No, you can’t! I was saving it for later!” Magna shouted, trying to grab the cookie back from the mischievous blonde. 

Luck laughed, keeping it out of reach. “They’re really good, I had one earlier when they were fresh from the oven!”

Luck grew bored with the game and let Magna snatch the cookie back, who offered it to Finral one more time. His persistence got even more words out of Finral, “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry…” His stomach growled loudly that very moment. 

Finral blushed at his stomach’s betrayal, but Magna smiled genuinely now. “I know!” Magna said, “Why don’t I heat it up for you? Then it’ll be as good as it was from the oven!”

“No, really, you don’t have to-” Finral continued, but was interrupted as Magna’s cookie-holding hand burst into flames, leaving the cookie burnt to a charred crisp. The smell of smoke filled the room, and Magna looked genuinely bewildered. Luck cackled, and even the corners of Finral’s mouth twitched upwards for a second at the comedic sight.

“Ah shoot, I’m sorry,” Magna sighed, putting his new charcoal into his pocket and wiping the black dust off on his pants. “So much for that.” Still, Magna didn’t miss the brief smile on the brunette’s face, and he sat back in his chair, looking more relaxed than before. “It really is good to see you, Finral. Everyone’s been worried sick.”

Luck nodded. “Especially Asta. He’s been dying to check in on you ever since the doctor got here. He sleeps right outside here, and Vanessa even had to tie him with her threads at one point to get him to stop knocking on the door!”

The mention of Asta made Finral’s ears perk. He didn’t have trouble picturing Asta stubbornly trying to get his way, but the image still warmed his heart. Of course Asta would be worried for him. That was the boy’s nature. Plus, he had found Finral when he was at his absolute lowest point and rescued him. 

“Too bad Yami sent him outside earlier,” Magna continued. “If he knew that visitors were allowed, he would have beaten us to the door for sure.”

“He probably hacked down half of the trees in the forest by now!” Luck said gleefully.

The warmth was short-lived, however, as guilt ate away at it. Asta didn’t deserve to see all that he did that day. He must have been horrified. And it was all Finral’s fault that Asta was so worried...

“I want to go out and see if Asta wants to fight,” Luck went on, “Do you want to come too, Finral?”

“Of course, he doesn’t!” Magna hissed. He sighed. While nobody knew the exact story, the shadiness around the whole situation insinuated a lot about what Finral must have gone through. He had challenged a kidnapper, and they found him stuck inside some seedy bar hanging on by an inch of his life… Still, the implications that Magna picked up went right over Luck’s head. The younger boy didn’t seem to fully understand what Finral was feeling. Then again, neither could Magna. And based on the lost, harrowed look on Finral’s face, he didn’t seem to understand his own emotions, either…

_“You have such a beautiful name, Finral. It matches that lovely face of yours.”_

_The first man’s hands on his jaw were replaced by a second pair. While the first guy held his chin hard enough to leave marks, this new assaulter traced Finral’s jawline with a perverse delicacy._

_“I want to make you feel good, Finral. The faster you learn to enjoy it, the better it will feel.”_

That empty look on his face only got worse as Luck egged him on.

“Finral, do you think you can come outside? Do you wanna watch me shock Asta? Hey, Finral?”

Each time Luck said his name, Finral’s eyes grew more distant. Magna urged the blonde to shut up, but he was impulsive as ever and refused to back down. “It’s such a nice day outside! Don’t you think Finral would like the fresh air, Magna? Hey, Finral!”

_“Ohhhh Finral,” the man sighed into Finral’s ear. He was rutting his still-covered crotch on the trapped boy’s naked ass. Both his hands reached around to Finral’s face; One had four fingers inside his mouth, forcing him to coat them in spit and preventing him from talking, and the other wiped away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “You’re so pretty, Finral. Are you ready for me to stuff you full?”_

_The man lowered his pants and took his now-damp hands to Finral’s ass, swirling the moisture around his raw ring. This extra lubricant was hardly necessary, seeing as he was already coated in blood and cum, but the man worked him open like a lover, which only made Finral feel sicker._

_He slowly pressed his member into Finral, moaning his name loudly. “Ah, fuck Finral! You feel so fucking good! Oh, Finral…”_

_Finral was about to scream just for the sake of covering up the voice perverting his own name into his ear, when he did something much worse._

_He moaned._

Magna finally shut Luck up with a hand over his mouth when Finral made a quiet, despairing sound. Magna’s heart broke at the cry. Looking back, Finral was curled into a ball under his covers, his eyes revealing that he was far away from the present moment. Magna floundered, not knowing what to do.

_Now fully sheathed inside, the tip of the cock pressed against something inside Finral that sent a jolt of electricity through him. The man behind him smirked. “Aw, did you like that, Finral?”_

_“What the fuck was that!” Finral panted, sounding on the edge of hysterics as warmth pooled in his stomach against his will._

_“You mean this, Finral dear?” the man said, emphasizing his words with another sharp thrust into the same spot as before. Finral moaned even louder, and the men in the bathroom all howled._

_“Now he sounds like a good slut,” one voice jeered. “Make him beg for it!”_

_“Finral, you look so sweet right now,” the man inside of him cooed, pulling the boy's face to the side to drink in the sight. “Your blushing all the way to the tip of your nose.”_

_“Sh-shut up!” Finral cried, trying to pull his face away._

“Are you alright, buddy? Do you want me to get you some… some water, or something? Can you hear me, Finral?” 

“Shut up!” a voice cried out from Finral’s mouth, but Magna had never heard his friend sound like that. He and Luck both froze, looking lost as to what to do.

_The man pulled out and slammed back in, watching the string of drool drip from Finral’s tongue as he let out another betraying, wonton sound. “You speak like you don’t like it, but you can’t fool me, Finral.” The man reached around and tugged at Finral’s hardening cock, and Finral yelped, trying not to thrust into the hand. He keened as the man picked up the pace, matching his thrusts with the movements of the hand around Finral’s leaking member._

_Finral started to feel lightheaded. His sanity was slipping, and any sane thought was driven out of his mind by the voice chanting his own name into his ear, “Ohh Finral. Finral, Finral!”_

_As the man’s seed sprayed onto the traitorous spot inside his ass, Finral cried out and released as well. The men around him cheered, but he couldn’t hear over his own racked sobs._

_His body had completely betrayed him, and his name had been stolen by the rough, scratchy voice now panting into his ear._

Magna approached Finral like he was a bomb about to go off any minute. He laid a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder, but Finral screamed and yanked himself away, pushing Magna with a surprising amount of force. Luck caught Magna before he could fall, but Finral was still shouting, lashing out at an unseen enemy.  
“STOP! DON’T LOOK AT ME!”

_But you’re so lovely to look at, Finral. What a good boy you are, enjoying my cock so much._

“NO, I DIDN’T LIKE THAT, YOU’RE A MONSTER!”

_Do you think I used magic to make you scream so beautifully? No, love, that was your own weakness. Your body did all of that on its own._

“TH-THAT’S NOT TRUE! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

_Oh, but I think you have another couple of rounds left in you._

Magna stood shocked as Finral shouted desperate words into the air. Luck was the one to break Magna’s trance as he elbowed his ribs. Magna blinked at his friend. “Let’s go get Yami,” Luck said. Magna had to read his lips over the unintelligible screaming coming from the bed. For once, Luck’s signature smile had vanished, and he looked more solemn than Magna had ever seen. He also looked furious, as though he finally understood what truly happened. Magna nodded, and they both bolted out the door to find their captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient for this chapter! Life crazy, you know? But I'm happy to finally have time to work on this, and I'm hoping to continue writing it every day as a personal fictober challenge. This isn't my favorite chapter, but I felt like it was a good place to get back into the fic. Please leave notes on what you liked/what you think could be better!


	18. Room Visits Part 2

Charmy walked down the hall with another untouched tray of food in her hands, sighing sadly. 

Poor Finral! He was all skin and bone! 

Ever since the ordeal that morning with Luck and Magna, Yami decided it was best to wait longer for Finral to see the rest of the squad. Until Finral felt well enough to go downstairs himself, only Charmy could go in to see if she could get him to eat.

Charmy’s grimoire floated in front of her as she walked back to the kitchen. She scanned it for a recipe that might get her friend to eat. Lobster bisque? No, that was too rich. Ham sandwich? Simple, but Charmy really wanted to make something warm for him to eat to bring some color back to his cheeks… Maybe a panini?

As she dreamt up the perfect get-well-soon meal, Charmy ran into Yami. He glanced down at the tray in her hands and furrowed his brow. “He still won’t eat?”

“Not a single bite, la…” Charmy responded glumly. 

Yami took the tray out of her hands and stomped back down the hall towards Finral’s room. Charmy scurried to keep up, following the captain and opening the door for him.

_____________________

Finral felt bad for sending Charmy away with all the food, especially after how hard she tried to get him to try even a little of the pasta she prepared. She had gone on about the fresh-grown tomatoes and basil in the sauce, and even had bread with garlic butter on the side, which he always enjoyed in the past. 

Finral’s stomach had growled at the sight, but still he turned her away. Maybe he was just being stubborn… Ok, he definitely was. But such a nice meal would be wasted on him. He’d feel really bad if he threw up Charmy’s homecooked recipe in front of her. He figured she would eat it herself later, so at least it wouldn’t go to waste.

The door creaked open again, and Charmy was peering in just as she had done minutes ago. Finral faked a smile at her, getting ready to decline her offer again, but the door opened more and revealed Yami looming in the frame, a scowl set on his brooding face. Finral stiffened under his captain’s steady glare. 

Before Finral could do anything, the two entered. Charmy sat on the edge of the bed, making it dip very slightly. Yami sat next to her, making the bed dip a lot more. Finral sat up as Yami unceremoniously dropped the tray onto the boy’s lap. “Eat.” The captain continued to glare.

Finral was as nervous as ever under Yami’s gaze, and he looked down at the food in front of him. It was still warm, and the steam felt good against his face. The smell was extraordinary also, and reminded Finral of the meals the Bulls all shared together after celebrating a victory. 

Yami caught the faint glow in Finral’s eyes as he looked at the plate, and didn’t buy it when he shook his head, insisting he wasn’t hungry. “Your mouth’s watering, kid. At least try a bite.”

He looked at the plate again and then back up at his two visitors. Between the sparkles beaming in Charmy’s eyes and the daggers in Yami’s, Finral found his ability to protest growing weaker. “It’s just… there’s so much of it. I couldn’t possibly eat all of this…” he mumbled.

“Don’t worry, la! We can help you!” Charmy reached into a pocket and pulled out three forks, polished to an almost blinding shine. Yami grabbed one from her and twisted it into the plate of spaghetti, then pointed it in Finral’s direction. “Eat,” he repeated.

“Really, you don’t have to-” 

“Eat!” Yami brought the fork closer to Finral’s mouth, tomato sauce smearing his cheek as he turned his face to the side. 

“Ok, ok! But I’ll do it myself!” Finral finally conceded. Having Yami feed him would be way too embarrassing. He took his hand out from under the covers and grabbed the fork, taking his first bite of real food in days. 

“How is it?” Charmy asked, eyes glittering in anticipation. 

Finral smiled, and it almost felt genuine this time. “It’s really good.”

Charmy and Yami soon dug into the pile of pasta as well, and the three of them ate in a comfortable silence. “See, you’re already looking better,” Yami said through a mouthful of noodles. Finral had to admit that he felt a little better, even after just a few bites.

When the food was gone, Charmy collected the forks and tray and hopped off the bed. “Does anyone want dessert?” she asked.  
“Thanks, Charmy. Maybe later,” Finral said, content. Charmy hummed as she went out the door, leaving Finral and Yami alone.

“See, kid, that wasn’t so bad,” Yami said.

Finral nodded, but he became silent again, his face falling. He had always felt like a hindrance to other people, but right now he felt like a helpless child. Yami was a Magic Knight Squad Captain. He shouldn’t have to spend his time spoon-feeding someone as useless as Finral. Without his grimoire, Finral couldn’t even use any magic. He shouldn’t even be allowed to stay with the Black Bulls anymore. 

A large hand came down on Finral’s head, ruffling his hair and shaking him out of his gloomy thoughts. Yami sighed. “You know, you’re not on your deathbed, Finral. I can’t even imagine the hell you went through, but you’re here now. And like it or not, you’re alive and kicking.” He lit a cigarette and continued, “Try to do your best to recover, and we’ll all be here supporting you. At some point, you’ll need to get out of this room and face the world again. Until then, just eat what Charmy brings you and try to build up some strength.”

“Yami…” Finral was at a loss for words. Yami was always so cool and collected, and his solid hand on Finral’s head helped the boy feel grounded and steadier than he had felt in a long time. 

“Try to get some sleep. I’ll check in on you in the morning.” Yami ruffled Finral’s hair one last time and got up to leave. 

“Wait,” Finral grabbed the hem of Yami’s cloak to stop him, and asked, “When you see Luck and Magna… could you tell them I’m sorry? For earlier.” 

Yami exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. “No,” he replied.

“Huh?”

“No, I won’t tell them that, because you have nothing to apologize for. Matter of fact, they wanted me to tell you that they’re sorry for stressing you out so bad.”

“Oh…” Finral hated thinking about the events from earlier that day. He couldn’t fathom why his friends would possibly want to apologize when it was his own fault for freaking them out so bad.

“If you really want to tell them,” Yami began, seeing the doubt on Finral’s face, “You can tell them in person, when you’re ready to. They’ll wait. We all want to give you as much space as you need. Just be careful not to block everyone out.” Yami walked away and opened the door. “G’night.”

“Goodnight…” Finral replied, his head swimming with everything Yami said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much lighter chapter this time around. It's time for this boy to learn how to heal (though it's still going to be a really rocky path).
> 
> Would people be interested in having summaries before each chapter, or are the warnings enough? I'm happy to do either way.


	19. Room Visits Part 3 (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: rape, eating disorder, blood
> 
> Once again, the most graphic elements are italicized. They're only at the beginning of this chapter.

_“Open your eyes, boy!” a scabby hand crossed Finral’s face, leaving a red, stinging mark on his cheek. He cried out, but his eyes remained clamped shut. He refused to open them and look at the nasty cock being held in front of his face. It was bad enough that the assaulter planned to stick it in his mouth. It was even worse that he could smell the sweaty musk wafting off of its filthy foreskin. This guy clearly hadn’t washed it in days, maybe even weeks. Looking at the grime underneath the globs of off-white precum, at the greasy, wiry pubic hairs at its base, and at the way it pulsed and squirmed at the sight of the fear on Finral’s face, made Finral never want to open his eyes again._

_The voice got closer to his ear and growled low, “Open your eyes or I’ll force them open myself and cum right under your eyelids.” To make his point, the man pushed his cock against Finral’s right eye, pushing against it until the pressure hurt enough to make Finral whine._

_Finral’s mind reeled as a horrific image of the dick pushing all the way into his eye socket flashed through it, and he cried. “Ok, ok, I will!” When the heavy appendage moved away from his face once more, Finral opened his eyes slowly, blinking away tears._

_“Good boy. Look at those big, purple doe eyes of yours! Now, keep looking up at me through those long lashes while I feed you your reward.”_

_Finral braced himself as the filthy tip parted his lips. It was salty and vile and he gagged immediately, but he did his best not to vomit, doubtful that the man would stop if he did. The man was hard to see clearly through the pools of tears streaming from Finral’s eyes, but the evil face was clearly relishing this, trying to drink in the moment with a sadistic smile._

_“Oh,” the man said, pausing, “And if you use your teeth, I’ll kill you.” He thrust forward until Finral was choking around the head that rammed down the back of his throat._

Finral’s eyes snapped open. He was sitting bolt-upright in his bed, drenched in sweat and his hands scratching at his throat. The searing pain and the revolting taste faded like a phantom, but Finral still leaned over the bucket placed near his bed and wretched, the memory feeling too hauntingly real. 

He layed back down and sighed. So much for sleep. After eating he had been feeling more like a human, but each fitful attempt to sleep summoned moments of dread that reverted him into nothing more than some sort of dirty, broken thing.

At least he managed to wait before spoiling Charmy’s meal.

Yami’s words were alluring last night, and Finral was even considering getting out of bed and peeking his nose into the hallway the next day just to prove to himself that he could do it. If he could take that first step, then maybe things could feel even the slightest bit more normal. 

All he really wanted to do was take a bath, but even that simple idea was fleeing from his head as he thought about how anything and everything seemed to trigger some horrible memory.

What if he got into the water and felt like it was the wet nastiness that caked him for so many hours in that damp, disgusting bathroom? What if the faucet running reminded him of the sink dripping over the sound of his own cries echoing off of the cold tile walls? 

What if someone else walked in and saw how fucked up he was?

He knew that the cuts on the back of his neck were ugly. Even with all the other mutilations covering his body, those marks were what made Yami tense up the most. They felt absurdly deep and still needed to be re-bandaged every 8 hours to keep blood from staining his pillow crimson. The doctor said that the knife probably had curse magic on it. It made Finral feel like the victim of a failed decapitation. Plus, he hadn’t forgotten the vague snippet of conversation about the marks spelling out some word. Yami never said what it was, and Finral couldn’t bring himself to ask.

Finral sighed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He remembered again the pressure of a dick against his right eye and shook his head vigorously, trying to escape the thought. _“Look at those big, purple doe eyes!”_ repeated a demon’s voice. 

“Shut up!” Finral screamed into the silence, and then realized he was talking to thin air. He swore and ran a hand through his hair, hoping nobody heard that from the hallway. He probably sounded absolutely insane, talking to himself.

Even touching his own hair made him cringe as he thought of endless pairs of long, yellow fingernails scraping against his scalp and holding him down. He swore again and threw a pillow at nothing, trying to chase away the sensation and images.

Whatever those monsters were, they knew exactly what they were doing to thoroughly fuck up Finral’s mind as much as possible. Brutal, graphic threats peppered with sickening compliments about every one of his features made him afraid to look into a mirror, fearing he’d see the same creature that all of those demons thought was the “perfect whore”. 

His looks were always one of the few traits he admired in himself. Not strong, not very brave, at least he was fairly good-looking. When a girl would complement his unique eye color, Finral used to feel flattered. Now he never wanted to be described as cute again. 

A soft knock on the door broke him out of his thoughts. Was it time for breakfast already? Early rays of sunlight crept through the small crack in his closed window curtain, but it still felt too early for Charmy to be stopping by.

The soft knock repeated. “Come in,” Finral said, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve and realizing he had been crying.

“Finral!” the door was thrown open and in rushed Asta, followed by a more cautious-looking Noelle. Asta wasted no time in rushing over to Finral and throwing a muscled arm around him in a tight embrace. Finral’s chest and shoulders screamed in pain from the sudden onslaught, but Finral didn’t care. 

He breathed in and smelled cloves and fresh pine on the grey head of hair now in his face. The hug ended far too soon.

“Sorry we didn’t visit yesterday! Yami kicked me out of the base, and by the time I was back he wouldn’t let me in to see you!” Asta said.

Noelle flipped her hair back behind her shoulder. “I had gone out to find Stupidsta when the doctor first left. It took me three hours just to find him, and he was up a tree bothering a feral bobcat.

“It looked lost!” Asta argued.

“It was foaming at the mouth!” Noelle snapped back.

The image of Asta trying to save an obviously wild animal was funny enough to make even Finral smile. It was a welcome distraction from the cursed images that had forcibly made a home in his headspace.

Asta continued, “But after, we went to a field and brought you back these flowers!”

“Well, I brought flowers. Asta brought you weeds,” Noelle added.

Noelle and Asta both held out their hands revealing two bouquets of flowers. Noelle’s were almost flower-shop quality, with pale orange daisies and assorted accent grasses. Asta held out three sprigs of a scrappy, wilting plant with tiny, bulbous yellow flowers on their ends. 

“They’re not weeds!” Asta said, “They’re an herb called Santolina. It grows out in Hage, too. I know they’re not really flashy, but they smell kind of like sage. And, well… it made me think of you.” Asta smiled sweetly at Finral. 

Finral blushed. He had been using sage and tangerine peel in his soap and shampoo for a long time, but he never thought that Asta would notice, let alone think of him when he smelled it. The fact that Asta associated him with something so small felt so personal and intimate in a way, and Finral’s heart fluttered. 

When Asta handed the flowers to him, their fingers grazed, and Finral’s cheeks turned an even deeper red. Even after taking the flowers, Asta’s hand lingered, and his cheeks got a little pinker, too, deep compassion dancing in his eyes. 

Noelle looked on at this scene feeling like she was missing something big. She cleared her throat and the two boys seemed to come back to their senses, though Finral’s face only brightened more as he sniffed the dusty green leaves now in his hands. 

Thinking about his shampoo made Finral remember his desire to take a bath. Putting down the Santolina, he grimaced at his own smell now. He hadn’t washed up properly since getting back to the base, and was suddenly feeling self-conscious. He must smell like sweat and medical supplies. He shifted slightly away from Asta and Noelle. “Is… anyone using the baths right now?” he asked.

Asta’s eyes lit up. “Gauche was in there a little while ago, but he should be done by now! Do you want me to come with you?” The grey-haired boy looked thrilled to hear that Finral was thinking of getting out of bed.

“No, that’s alright,” Finral replied, smiling awkwardly. He wanted to be alone so that nobody saw his naked body until he finally looked into a mirror. Still, seeing his friends was so refreshing in this moment that he became daring enough to say, “Once I’m done, maybe I’ll head downstairs…”

Asta and Noelle both looked surprised and happy now, their eyes beaming. “Really?” they both exclaimed at the same time. Noelle followed up with her trademark hair flip and an unconvincing “Not that it really matters to me either way. Hmph!” She grabbed an old glass from Finral’s side table and tapped it with her wand, filling it with water before arranging her flowers in it and setting it back down.

Asta was practically bouncing with excitement. “Everyone’s missed you so much, I’m sure they’ll all be glad to see you!”

The intensely bubbly energy radiating off Asta was a little intimidating to Finral, who was regretting his words now that he was thinking about what going downstairs actually entailed. Would Magna and Luck be down there? It might be incredibly awkward… How would he answer any questions everyone probably wanted to ask? 

Finral opened his mouth to take back what he said, but stopped as his eyes locked with Noelle’s. She looked serious and standoffish as ever, but hope and warmth glistened in her gaze as she held his. 

“I really do hope you’ll come down. I’m holding you to that promise,” she said before grabbing Asta by the ear and marching out the door.


	20. Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings:  
> blood, slurs

Finral’s legs felt shaky as he kicked off his covers and gingerly placed his feet on the rug beside his bed. The aching in his calves tempted him to lie back down, but Noelle’s words rang through his head: “I’m holding you to that promise.” Her determined tone drove him onwards. 

He thought about how he only ever seemed to do things that others told him to do. It was almost funny how pathetic he had always been, waiting for someone stronger to spark what little courage hid away in his heart. Still, that only convinced himself further that seeing everyone else was important. Like Yami had said, he wasn’t dead yet, and he had to prove to both himself and his teammates that he was still worth keeping around. 

Taking a deep breath, he shifted all his weight into his legs and hoisted himself to his feet. Blood rushed to his head, and he put a hand on his nightstand to balance himself. Once he felt stable enough, he walked to the door and turned the handle.

His time in the bathroom began as an out-of-body experience. He felt like he was watching himself from a distance as he turned the faucet on, filling the space with steam that fogged up every mirror. That was fine with him. The less he had to see of his own reflection, the better.

There was only one thing that he really wanted to check out. 

He was always one to strongly reject morbid curiosity. Why were people so fascinated with what they knew would only horrify them? One time, Yami was sharing a story with all of the Bulls about his younger years spent with the Grey Deer squad. The story had Finral enraptured along with the rest of the audience, but Finral did not hesitate to cover his ears and hum loudly to block out the graphic details of Yami tying his own tourniquet around a leg he was convinced he would lose. 

Finral lifted his nightshirt over his head and started unraveling the bandages around his neck. Hardly anything could make Yami look squeamish (he would probably kill anyone who used the word “squeamish” to describe him in any situation), but he had never looked more uncomfortable than when he checked out the back of Finral’s neck. 

Finral took a sharp breath through his teeth as he placed a damp cloth behind his head, wiping away the crusted blood and fresh droplets that still oozed out of what must be the ugliest injury in the world. A voice in the back of his mind was screaming to just forget about it and continue his bath in peaceful ignorance. Still, it was his own neck, and the mystery about it couldn’t go on forever. He might as well bite the bullet and check it out himself.

He wiped away the fog in the mirror and faced it sideways, arching his neck to try to get a decent look. He could make out two slice marks on the right of it forming a cross, but couldn’t see any more. He went over to Gauche’s belongings and dug for a handheld mirror. Holding it towards himself with the large one behind him, he finally caught a full glimpse.

He didn’t know why he felt so shocked. He had been called a slut more times than he could count in those endless hours of torture to the point that it might as well have been his name. But seeing the word so clearly, dripping red still running down his back, made him want to cry out. He stared until his vision blurred from tears building at the corners of his eyes.

When he was little, he had heard a man arguing with a woman at the market in his town. That was the first time he’d ever heard the word, and his father tensed up when he asked what it meant. A slut was a harlot, a woman who was loose with her body and let other men use her however they wanted. That woman probably slept with someone other than her husband, his father explained. 

It wasn’t a word Finral ever thought would be associated with him. But there it was, wrapped around his neck like some sort of collar.

He started to scratch at his neck, irritating the letters in a desperate attempt to hide them under blood again. Even when he closed his eyes, he felt strikingly aware of each letter. He could practically feel the individual slice marks that formed the curves of the “S”, the sharp, straight “L”, the cruel smirk of the “U”, the deep crucifix of the “T”. 

At least a collar could be removed. These marks showed no sign of ever coming off of the back of his head. He was branded, like cattle.

Like the beaten animal he felt like, Finral tucked his head down and cowered, avoiding his own gaze as the mirror fogged back up. He passed the remainder of his bath feeling even more removed from his physical self than before. The water steamed, but it felt lukewarm. The click of his shampoo bottle opening sounded miles away.

_________________________

When he came back to his senses, Finral realized he was standing with his toes hanging off the top step of the stairs. He was dressed and shivering slightly from the cool air of the hall against his wet hair, which trickled down his shirt collar and over the snug bandage he didn’t remember re-wrapping around his neck.

A sudden rush of vertigo caught Finral off-guard and he grabbed the wall, leaning against it for support. He sighed. As decent as he felt earlier in his room, seeing the cuts on his neck completely threw Finral back into a grim state of mind. He knew he shouldn’t have looked at it, that nothing good would ever come out of seeing something so grotesque. Why couldn’t he ever just listen to himself? He was mentally beating himself up over this when he heard Noelle’s voice drift from downstairs.

That’s right. He had made a promise, and Finral had never broken a promise to one of his teammates before. Still, he turned his head to look back at his bedroom door. He had already done something brave today and had paid the price for it. It was reckless bravery that had got him assaulted in the first place. Mentally apologizing to Noelle, Finral decided to give in to his cowardly nature. 

As he began to turn back, however, the voices from downstairs got louder. “No fair, Noelle, you’ve won every game so far!” It was Asta.

“It’s not my fault you can’t count your cards fast enough, Stupidsta,” Noelle snapped back. “Grey, it’s your turn to start.”

“Well, just you wait!” said Asta. “When Finral gets down here he’s going to be on my team, and we’re gonna take you down!”

“There are no teams in Bluff, idiot.”

A picture flashed in Finral’s mind that felt like it came out of a hazy, long-forgotten past. He and his friends were gathered around the wooden table in the common area, cards in hand. It wasn’t a flashy memory. Just a plain, simple image of everything being normal. No worried glances. No shame or guilt or fear. Some hollow spot in Finral’s chest ached at the memory of the feeling.

Plus, Asta was waiting for him, too. Finral would gladly be on his team, even if Asta couldn’t do basic math. His memory shifted: Now, he was sitting right next to Asta in it, their shoulders brushing as Asta snuck a not-so-subtle glance at Finral’s cards, and Finral snuck a not-so-subtle glance at Asta’s strong, gleaming profile…

Finral shook his head to clear his mind of his embarrassing fantasy. Whenever his thoughts ran wild like this, no matter how innocent, Finral fought to keep his daydreams in check before they got out of hand. 

He always told himself that he was hardly worthy of having Asta as a friend. Why would a selfless, strong, energetic guy like Asta want anything to do with a weak loser like Finral?

And now, it felt absolutely perverse to imagine Asta under any air of romance. Finral had let himself be broken. He was too weak to protect himself, and too selfish for thinking he deserved any form of love anymore. 

He was nothing but a slut; It said so right on the back of his head.

He should just let them have their fun without him. All he would do is bring down the mood. He should just go back to his room and--

“Finral!” Without realizing it, Finral had walked down the stairs and was now facing Noelle, Asta, Grey, and Gordon, who all looked at him, frozen still. Finral floundered under all their gazes for a long moment. He was just about to bolt back up the stairs, but Asta and Gordon got up and raced towards him. Finral resigned himself to his fate as his friends each put a hand on his shoulders and guided him to a seat at the table.

Despite his initial reluctance, Finral dealt himself a hand and tried to keep up with the game. Nobody else was around right then. Judging by the smells wafting from the kitchen, Charmy was cooking a roast dinner. Asta and Noelle bickered here and there, and Gordon and Grey were as silent as they ever were. 

Finral was engrossed in the atmosphere of the moment, drinking in every small detail like a traveler finding an oasis in the desert. Asta rocked back and forth in his chair. Noelle chewed on the ends of her pigtails when she was deep in thought. Dust mites drifted through a sunbeam that hit the center of the table. The heavy paper of the cards felt glossy and familiar. Somewhere in the room, a clock ticked, marking each precious second.

Finral had won the last three games, even though he wasn’t really trying. It was obvious that the others were letting him win, but he didn’t mind. It would only make things awkward if he pointed out that they were going easy on him out of pity. He decided to shake off the feeling by speedily tossing his next cards into the center of the table. 

“Two fours,” he said, slapping down his last two cards. Gordon smiled and applauded Finral’s win, and Finral pushed the scattered card deck back together, getting ready to shuffle for another game. Before he could move, though, he felt a gentle hand placed on top of his. 

Looking across the table, Finral’s eyes met Asta’s, their bright, rich green flickering with concern. “You’re bleeding,” he said softly.

Finral looked down to his hand as Asta flipped it over, revealing a shallow papercut across the center of Finral’s palm. He registered no pain, but shivered at the ghost-touch of Asta’s thumb tracing the air just above the injury. 

Asta took off his headband. Finral watched as tufts of unruly grey hair jutted out at new angles at the removal of the fabric. Asta took the strip of cloth and wrapped it around Finral’s hand, tying it in place with an impressive sailor’s knot. Asta flipped Finral’s hand back over, showing the Black Bull’s logo standing proud against Finral’s pale skin.

Finral knew his face was bright red. When Asta finally moved his hand away, Finral jerked his own back to him, holding it to his chest and urging his heartbeat to calm down. 

He was having no luck.

Asta moved on from the moment as though nothing happened, smiling and gathering the cards. “Let’s play again!”

Finral stood up fast, knocking over his chair. “I-I think I’ll sit this one out,” he stammered, hiding his scarlet cheeks as he turned from the table. He went over to the sofa and plopped down as the others resumed their game.

Finral mentally kicked himself. Idiot! Why couldn’t he have just reacted like a normal person?!

Asta’s kind gesture still had Finral’s head spinning, and the soft, worn-in fabric around his hand felt electrifying. Finral was disgusted with his instinctual urge to press it into his face and sniff it. 

They were just playing cards, but he had to go and get hurt like he always does, and now he was soiling Asta’s headband with his nasty blood…

“You look weird without a headband on,” Noelle commented.

“Not to worry!” Asta chuckled, looking very pleased with himself as he reached into a pocket. He pulled out an identical headband and secured it around his head.

Noelle looked unimpressed. “Why do you just have another one ready?”

Gordon muttered a response, “Asta always carries three extra headbands: two in his left pocket and one in his right boot. I wish he would give me one, too…”

Finral felt relieved to know that at least he wasn’t ruining Asta’s only trademark headband. He hated how his heart started beating faster again as the next thought popped into his head-- Could he keep it? He clenched his fist, feeling the fabric strain against his knuckles. No, no, no, no, no! Of course not, how stupid could he be?

___________________________

Finral was rescued from his own spiral of confusing feelings as the base’s front door opened. He looked up to see Gauche and Vanessa walking in.

“Finral!” Vanessa exclaimed, rushing over to him. She looked worried, but Finral was thankful when he flashed her a weak smile and she smiled back. She put a hand on his head, patting down his hair. 

“I hardly recognized you under this mop,” she joked. “Here, let me brush it out for you.” She sat next to Finral and began working her long nails through his furious tangles of matted hair before pulling out a comb. Finral hadn’t even thought about his hair until now, but it must be absurdly messy after so many days of neglect. His hair was always one of Finral’s favorite things about himself. He would fuss over it every day, and often came to Vanessa with styling questions. Finral leaned into her touch to make it easier for her. He appreciated how gentle she was, never pulling at knots. Her fingers felt good as she massaged his scalp. 

Gauche sat down on the other end of the couch, his nose buried in a handmade card. The front had a kid’s drawing of Vanessa, Gauche, and Marie and read “Thank you!” in large, carefully written cursive. 

“It’s rare for you two to be hanging out,” Finral said.

“Marie… had questions about hair,” Gauche mumbled.

“I taught her how to braid,” Vanessa added, and wove a plait into a lock of Finral’s hair before combing it out again. “And… done!” she said, sweeping Finral’s hair one last time before moving her hands away. 

Finral looked sheepish as he asked, “Does it look any better?”

Vanessa tutted. “Do you doubt my talent? Gauche, give me a mirror.”

“I’m busy.”

“Like hell you are, you sister-complex weirdo! I spent all day with you, at least do this one thing for me.”

“Fine,” Gauche grumbled, reluctantly looking up from the card as he summoned a mirror from his grimoire. His stoic eyes glanced over to Finral. “He looks like how he always does.”

Vanessa held the mirror up to Finral, and a reflection stared back at him. It did look normal. His hair was how he liked it, and the long neck of his robe even hid the bandages around his throat. His eyes were dark and sunken, but aside from that, Finral was looking at his normal self. 

His normal self. The one who cared about things like hair and fashion and picking up girls. The one who could use magic. The one who wasn’t used as a toy by a bunch of sweaty criminals…

His eyes darted away from the mirror. That image wasn’t him anymore. He felt far more like the wretched creature in the bathroom mirror, branded and crying, nothing but a blurred, foggy version of his former self. 

_________________________

Vanessa lowered the mirror, alarmed as tears welled up in the corners of poor Finral’s eyes. It absolutely broke her heart to see him like this. 

Vanessa had planned to go with Finral to Kiten on That day, but she stayed home instead, nursing her hangover from the night before. She would never forgive herself for letting him go alone. She knew she could have rescued him. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have even been in that situation at all if she was there, too! Finral was the closest thing she ever had to a brother. What was the point of having magic that could alter fate if she couldn’t even save her family?

She hadn’t had anything to drink since Finral came back home, knowing that if she was intoxicated when they were reunited, she would break into ugly drunk-sobbing. Still, seeing his bottom lip quiver like a lost child made tears prick at her eyes, too. 

At a loss for words, Vanessa was surprised but thankful when Gauche spoke up. He pulled out a picture of Marie and held it out to Finral. “Here. Let the beauty of this perfect angel ease your pain.”

Finral wiped his eyes on his sleeve and smiled weakly, looking at the photo with unfocused eyes. After another moment of silence, Gauche spoke again, “You know… Marie thinks spacial magic is really cool.”

“Oh. Really?” Finral said halfheartedly. He was only half-focused on Gauche’s words, but it was rare for the purple-haired mage to actually start a conversation.

“Mm-hm,” Gauche continued, “Our uncle was a really great spacial mage. He could just think of any real item in the world that he’d seen before and it would transport to where he was. But what I’m trying to tell you is that Marie thinks spacial magic is cool, so by association she probably thinks you’re cool too. Not as cool as me, of course. But you should be honored.”

Gauche may have had a bizarre way of complimenting people, but he no doubt thought it was the highest praise anyone could get. Finral felt touched for a moment at this clumsy affection from his typically cold teammate, but his face fell soon after. 

“...Too bad I can’t use my magic anymore…” he mumbled. 

Vanessa tensed up. She didn’t know that Finral couldn’t use his magic. They all knew that it was dysfunctional for a while on the day where his wrists were stuck in the wall. Still, to lose it completely was unheard of. Even if his grimoire was missing, he should be able to activate a little bit of mana at a time. 

Across the room, Noelle, Asta, Gauche, and Grey all stared at the three on the couch, clearly holding their breath. Ever since Luck and Magna broke down his door, everyone was worried about doing anything that could set Finral spiraling into his own dark memories. 

Despite the tension in the room, Gauche seemed unfazed. “Yeah, my uncle can’t use his magic anymore, either. He tried to blackmail my family by kidnapping Marie when we were young, so I killed him.”

Finral’s eyebrows shot up at the unexpected ending to the story. The look on his face was his classic what’s-wrong-with-this-guy face, and Vanessa couldn’t help but laugh lightheartedly when she saw it. 

“That’s messed up!” she exclaimed, and a gleam of mischief danced in her eyes. It was a risky idea, but she had a plan to make Finral feel better. “You know, when I was young I was trapped in a cage my whole life. Let’s all share our family trauma, that’s always fun! Noelle, you share!”

Noelle looked startled, not expecting to be called on suddenly, but she composed herself and replied, “My brothers and sister always told me I was worthless and that I was the reason our mother died…”

“Fuck those guys, right?” Vannessa called on Gordon, who muttered something incoherent even in the silence. 

“What’s the point of this, Vanessa?” Finral finally asked, unamused by the game. 

Vanessa leaned her shoulder against his and spoke, her voice serious this time. “Look, everyone in this squad has a lot of horrible memories from their past built up. But we all overcame them. I can’t even begin to imagine what terrible things those perverts did to you, but you’re better than that single day in your life. It hurts so bad because it’s still so fresh, but we’re all here to help you--”

Finral jerked away from her and stood up. “No, you guys have no idea what it’s like! Every time my eyes close, it's like I’m reliving that day in my head! You overcame all of that by getting stronger and more confident. I did nothing to protect myself, my own magic actually made my situation worse, and now I can’t use it at all!” This outburst made the room silent, and after a moment Finral spoke again, his voice shaking, “I wasn’t ever even aware of how mana felt inside me, but without it, it’s so… so cold. Like all of my blood’s been drained. Do you know what it’s like to live without magic?”

“I do.” Asta’s quiet voice was right beside Finral’s ear, and he jumped as he felt a gentle hand rest on his arm. Asta didn’t look angry, or worried, or overly sympathetic. He stared down Finral with determined resolve in his eyes. One that made Finral feel safe and understood and cared for. 

It was too much to bear. 

It was true that Asta didn’t have magic. Duh. But even without it, Asta made a name for himself through commitment and dedication. Finral was practically useless even with magic. Asta must be offended that Finral would use that as an excuse for his inherent weakness. Ashamed at his sudden outburst, Finral’s eyes darted away from Asta’s. 

He felt Vanessa take his hand and squeeze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that what happened to us is even slightly comparable to what you went through. But you’re right: We all got stronger since our pasts. But you know the only reason we all could do that? It’s because we’re always here for each other.” She sighed. “This squad is a family. Apart, we’re a bunch of misfits and weirdos shaped by our trauma and misfortune. But together, we boost each other up through love and encouragement and teamwork. What I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to bottle up what’s hurting inside of you. You don’t even have to be strong. We’re a family, and we’re all stronger together. Just let us be there for you.”

By the end of her speech, Vanessa was crying. Noelle and Gordon also had tears in their eyes. 

Finral had goosebumps. He was floored by the amount of love and compassion radiating around the room. Before he knew it, Vanessa was embracing him, staining his shoulder with her tears. Noelle, Asta, Gordon, and Grey all gathered around and joined in, too. Even Gauche snuffled a little bit, taking his eye away from his picture of Marie to look at the group hug in the middle of the room.

Finral felt his own tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. The warmth of the moment started to combat against his doubts and guilt. Could he really believe that he was worthy of being loved, even just for this moment? Could he really ask his friends to sacrifice their precious empathy on a waste like him? 

As negative thoughts started bubbling up in his mind, Finral spoke, trying to give his friends one last chance to change their minds. “I’m not the same as I was. I’m… all messed up in the head…”

Through her tears, Vanessa laughed. “We’re the Black Bulls. We’re all messed up in the head!”

The hug continued for a long time, and Finral eventually felt himself relaxing into it. Surrounded by the unwavering support and love of his team, he could almost accept that everything was going to be ok.

Eventually, Charmy walked into the room. Seeing her friends all hugging in a circle, she walked over and joined in, hopping on Asta’s back and hugging his head. 

“Dinner’s ready, la!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up a lot longer than I planned on it being! I'm finally feeling the momentum building in my writing, and I hope you'll all stick around for the drama of what's still to come. The next chapter will deal with a major plot point that will drive the story further along.
> 
> Thank you for reading and for everyone's support for this story! It means the world to me that so many people enjoy it so much.


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